


Fairy Tales in Deep Space

by airandangels



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:05:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airandangels/pseuds/airandangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An interesting anthropological experiment: tell Elim Garak human fairy-tales, and see what he thinks the morals are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snow White

**Chief Medical Officer's Personal Log**

I intend to undertake a sort of anthropological experiment, inspired by a conversation with my friend Elim Garak. I happened to tell him the old story of the boy who cried wolf, in an attempt to persuade him that his repeated departures from the truth were a mistake. After first objecting that the story was 'rather graphic for children,' he went on to astound me by saying that the real moral of the story was not that if you keep lying, soon nobody will believe you, but rather that one should never tell the same lie twice.

This little chat stuck with me for some time, not merely because it was startlingly illustrative of my friend's attitude to the truth, but because it seemed to remind me of something; I just couldn't think quite what. Eventually it came back to me; I was thinking of an article my Eng. Lit. teacher had given me to read when I was studying Hamlet in the sixth form. ['Shakespeare in the Bush'](http://www.naturalhistorymag.com/editors_pick/1966_08-09_pick.html) was the account of an American anthropologist who, in the 1960s, had gone to live with and study a West African tribe, and to test the idea that Shakespeare's tragedies are universal in their themes, told them the story of Hamlet. She was startled to find that because of their culture's different beliefs concerning the existence and significance of ghosts, the propriety of marrying one's brother's widow, the nature of insanity and so on, they interpreted the story quite differently.

Inspired by this, and with Garak's agreement, I've decided to test a variety of Earth's fairy tales and folk tales on him, and see what he makes of them. Of course, one Cardassian's responses can't be taken as representative of Cardassians in general, but perhaps others can undertake similar experiments with more individuals or larger groups. I have access to just one Cardassian, so I want to make the most of him. I think this could be a useful approach to greater understanding between our peoples, and hopefully to less conflict between us in the future.

We initially attempted this during one of our weekly literary lunches, but when I played back the recording I found that the background noise from the Replimat and general Promenade area was very distracting. Also, we were interrupted by various people and it rather disrupted the flow of both my storytelling and Garak's responses. Accordingly, I asked if we could start again, either in his quarters or in mine, and the transcripts I'll present are taken from those sessions.

### Session 1, Stardate Xxxx.xx, Dr Julian Bashir's quarters, Deep Space Nine.

[ **JB** = Julian Bashir, **EG** = Elim Garak]

 **JB:** There, it's on. I'll leave it here on the table. Would you like anything to drink?

 **EG:** Red leaf tea, if it's no trouble.

 **JB:** Good idea. I'll join you. Tea, red leaf, hot, two cups - one extra sweet.

 **EG:** I have never understood why you don't say 'Two cups of hot red leaf tea.' Surely the speech recognition technology would be equal to that.

[some clinking of teacups on saucers and the table]

 **JB: ** It's just how it's done. The early replicators did have to be instructed that way - start with the general category of food or drink, then get more specific - and everyone got into the habit. Have you ever looked at the text input layout on our touchscreens? How the top row goes QWERTYUIOP? That's a hangover from mechanical typewriters that jammed if you typed too quickly. The layout was designed to slow typists down. We still use it because everyone's learned to type that way since, oh, the late nineteenth century.

 **EG:** Preposterous.

 **JB:** I suppose so. Now, shall we have another crack at _Snow White_ , since I didn't get very far with that, or would you like something different?

 **EG:** No, by all means, continue with Miss White.

 **JB:** All right. Are you sitting comfortably? [EG nods.] Then I'll begin. Once upon a time, in a land far away, lived a king and queen who were expecting their first child. One day in winter, the pregnant queen sat by the window working on her embroidery, and looking out the window at the beauty of the snow that covered the country. She became a little distracted, and accidentally pricked her finger on her needle. She was struck by the vividness of the red blood on the white cloth, outlined by the embroidery frame of ebony wood, and prophesied that her child would be a daughter with hair as black as ebony, lips as red as blood, and skin as white as snow. And so it was.

 **EG:** Rather unnatural colouring. Or are there completely white-skinned humans, and I just haven't seen any?

 **JB:** All right, it's an exaggeration. For poetic effect. Don't quibble on the little things.

 **EG:** My apologies. Please continue.

 **JB:** And so it was. The king and queen loved their little daughter and she grew to be a healthy and happy child with a kind and generous heart. Because of her colouring, they called her Snow White - or in some versions, Snowdrop, which is a little white flower. Sadly, her mother died when she was still quite young, and in time the king married again. Here was where Snow White's troubles began. Her new stepmother was a woman of great beauty, but also of great vanity and pride. She resented and disliked the little princess for being such a favourite with her father. She was also secretly a witch, and possessed a magic mirror.

 **EG:** Why did the king marry her?

 **JB: ** The story doesn't say. Perhaps she enchanted him. Or perhaps it was just because she was beautiful.

 **EG:** One should have a better reason for marriage than that, particularly with a child to consider.

 **JB: ** Anyway, every night the wicked queen would stand before her magic mirror, and repeat the spell: Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all? And every night the mirror, which was enchanted to tell only the truth, would tell her that she was the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. Thus, she was content.

 **EG:** How sad that she had nothing else upon which to base her self esteem.

 **JB:** In time, the king, too, passed away, and the queen ruled as regent until Snow White should come of age.

 **EG:** Why did he die?

 **JB:** The story doesn't say. It's not important.

 **EG:** It sounds enormously important! Was it a natural death? Had he many enemies?

 **JB:** Look, is the story called 'Political Assassination in Fairyland'? No, it's not. It's called 'Snow White.' So please pipe down so I can get on and tell you what happens to Snow White.

 **EG: ** Oh, were they fairies?

 **JB:** No... no. Bear with me. Anyway, the queen couldn't help noticing that as Snow White grew up, she was becoming increasingly beautiful, and a terrible fear grew in her heart that soon the princess would surpass her. She convinced herself that Snow White thought herself superior to her, and tried to humble her by making her dress in rags and work in the castle as a servant. The princess bore all this with patience and remained cheerful and loving, believing that her stepmother had her best interests at heart. Even in dirty, shabby clothes she was still radiant. And one night, the worst happened. The wicked queen stood before her glass and intoned 'Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?' And the mirror replied 'O Queen, though fair indeed thou be, Snow White is now more fair than thee.'

 **EG:** I bet she didn't like that!

 **JB: ** She did not like that. She ranted and cursed and stormed, and she made an evil plan. In the morning, she woke Snow White and spoke to her sweetly, giving her pretty new clothes to put on. She told her she was to have a treat for working so hard, and that her own chief huntsman would escort her to the meadows near the forest to stroll and pick flowers. She had secretly instructed the huntsman that once he had Snow White alone, far from anyone who might see or hear, he was to kill her, cut out her heart, and bring it back to the queen so she would know that her rival was dead.

 **EG:** Excuse me, this _is_ Political Assassination in Fairyland.

 **JB:** _Anyway ,_ the huntsman obeyed instructions up to a point. When they were in an isolated meadow near the forest, he drew his knife and approached the princess, who was kneeling and gathering flowers, planning to present her stepmother with a bouquet when they went home. She saw his shadow and turned in horror, begging him not to hurt her.

 **EG:** Never approach a target with a strong light behind you. I would think a hunter would know that.

 **JB:** The huntsman had never wanted to kill the princess. Only his fear of the queen had overridden his conscience. Now, with Snow White weeping before him, he knew he could not do it. 'Run away, my lady, run into the forest and never return, for your stepmother wants you dead!' he cried. 'I will cover for you, but that is all I can do.' Thanking him, Snow White vanished among the trees, and the huntsman killed a young deer instead, and took its heart back to the queen, who was fooled for the time being.

 **EG:** Then she was a very ignorant woman.

 **JB: ** Let's assume she hadn't much anatomical knowledge. In triumph, she cooked the heart and ate it.

 **EG:** Ugh!

 **JB: ** She was _wicked._  


 **EG:** Oh, of course,  that accounts for the cannibalism. Again: this is a story for children, yes?

 **JB:** It didn't do me any harm. Anyway, back to Snow White, who was wandering, hopelessly lost, in the deep forest.

 **EG:** So, assuming that princesses learn little of woodcraft, it appears that the huntsman has merely abandoned her to a slow death rather than giving her the mercy of a quick one.

 **JB:** He wasn't good at plans. Well, Snow White, having expected only a pleasant outing to the meadows, was quite lightly dressed and shod, and had no food, weapons or tools with her. It was growing dark and creatures of the night were beginning to stir among the trees and underbrush. She quickly grew cold, and hungry, and very frightened.

 **EG:** Is something going to eat her up? I want to be prepared.

 **JB: ** Of course not.

 **EG:** Oh, I see, because she hasn't told any _lies. _ Continue.

 **JB: ** She walked on, because she could not see any good place to stop, and in time came to a clearing, where to her surprise she saw a little cottage, with its front door built so low that she would have to duck her head to go through. Hoping that there would be kind people inside, she summoned up her courage and knocked at the door. There was no answer, but it swung open, for it was not locked and the latch was broken. 'Hello?' Snow White called out. Hearing no answer, and preferring the unknown cottage to the unknown forest, she walked in. She found a low-ceilinged kitchen with a cooking hearth, a long, low table and seven low stools. Everything was dusty and in some disarray, and there were dirty dishes piled in the stone sink.

Still calling out to see if there were any occupants, Snow White ventured upstairs, where she found seven small beds. She wondered very much at this - were seven children living here alone, without any parents? She was afraid of what even children might say if they came home to find a housebreaker, but she was so exhausted from her fright and the long trudge through the forest that she decided she would just deal with that if it happened, and lay down across the beds, pulled the blankets over herself and fell fast asleep.

 **EG:** Now that she's broken into a house, is she at risk of being eaten up for her sins?

 **JB:** I don't think so. She hasn't damaged anything or tried to rob the house. Remind me to tell you about Goldilocks one day. After a refreshing sleep, Snow White awoke to find that the occupants of the cottage were standing around her, looking at her in great puzzlement and surprise. They were not children, but dwarfs - seven little men with long white beards.

 **EG: ** And they ate her up.

 **JB:** Stop that. Snow White was afraid of them at first, but they spoke to her kindly and asked her how she came there. When she had told her story, they were most sympathetic, and told her that she was welcome to stay with them.

They came to an agreement. Because the dwarfs left early each morning to work in their mine deeper in the forest, digging precious jewels and metals from the earth, and came home late each night, worn out, they had been doing a very half-hearted job of housekeeping. Because of her recent experiences in the castle, Snow White was a competent cook and cleaner. Therefore, in return for her room and board, she would clean the cottage and have a hot dinner waiting for the dwarfs at the end of the day.

 **EG: ** Now, was this just for the time being, to ensure she had a safe place to stay while she planned her return to the castle, her revenge on the queen and her retaking of the kingdom?

 **JB:** Um... I don't think so.

 **EG:** I don't call that a very good princess. She's quite content to leave her subjects at the mercy of an evil cannibal witch just so long as she's safe?

 **JB: ** She's only a young girl.

 **EG:** That's no excuse. _Noblesse oblige._

 **JB:** Well, this story is German, not French. May I continue? Because meanwhile the queen was discovering the huntsman's deception.

 **EG: ** Ooh, good.

 **JB: ** For some time after eating the heart, she was filled with a sense of great wellbeing and confidence, and did not bother to consult her mirror. Eventually, however, her vanity and insecurity began to prickle at her, and she thought she would just reassure herself that she was the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. And so she asked it - you can do this part -

 **EG:** Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?

 **JB:** Very good! And the mirror replied, 'O Queen, though very fair thou be, Snow White is still more fair than thee.' The queen was confused. 'But Snow White is dead,' she objected. 'I have eaten her heart.' At this, the mirror showed her exactly what had happened in the meadow by the forest, and she flew into a towering rage.

 **EG: ** I don't like the huntsman's chances after this.

 **JB:** I actually can't remember whether she executed him, or he had run off before she could discover the heart switcheroo. He's not important any more, anyway. The queen commanded the mirror to show her where Snow White was now, and it showed her the image of Snow White in the dwarfs' cottage, her sleeves rolled up and her hair tied up in a scarf, busily cleaning the kitchen.

 **EG:** Well, wouldn't she be rather pleased that Snow White was still stuck doing skivvy's work?

 **JB: ** She was still alive, though, and still more beautiful than her. It had become an obsession, you see. So the queen formed another evil plan, and this time she decided to carry it out herself, so that she could see the death and know for certain that it was done.

 **EG:** Sensible, at last.

 **JB: ** She disguised herself as an old peddler, dressing in a shabby cloak, putting on a white wig, and staining her face with walnut juice. She filled a basket with pretty things that a young girl might like to buy, and went into the forest, finding her way to the cottage, where the dwarfs had gone out to work and Snow White, having cleaned up after breakfast, was baking pies. She was surprised to see the old woman, but invited her in, gave her a drink and looked at her wares. In the basket were many pretty ribbons and shawls and stays, which the disguised queen told her would suit her very well. 'Go on, my dear, try these on,' she coaxed. 'They'll help your figure so.' Snow White allowed her to lace her into a set of stays, and the queen promptly pulled the strings so tight that the girl couldn't breathe and fell lifeless to the floor. Exulting at her success, the queen gathered up her things and left.

 **EG:** So the moral of the story is, don't leave assassinations to underlings of uncertain competence. All right.

 **JB:** No, it's not over. When the dwarfs arrived home, they were dismayed to find Snow White apparently dead on the floor. Noticing the stays drawn tight around her ribs, they cut the strings, and with a gasp she began to breathe again.

 **EG:** Oh, come _on!_

 **JB:** Look, that's just what the story says. The dwarfs asked her what had happened, and she told them the story, and they thought the peddler must have been an agent of the wicked queen. 'If you see that old woman again, don't let her in,' they told Snow White. 'You must be very careful.' Meanwhile, at the castle, the wicked queen scrubbed the brown stains from her face, brushed her hair, put on her royal gown and went to the mirror, and asked...

 **EG:** Mirror, mirror, on the wall, etcetera. And got the usual reply?

 **JB:** Precisely. After a bit of the usual rage, she formed a new plan. Clearly, the stays alone had not been enough. She put together a different disguise and filled a basket with brushes and combs. She returned to the forest the next day. Because it wasn't the same peddler, Snow White decided that it should be all right to let her in. Again, the disguised queen talked her into trying her wares. This time she brushed her hair with a poisoned comb, and once again Snow White fell down lifeless. The queen exulted, left, etcetera.

 **EG:** Given that in the past she required an actual bloody heart to convince her the enemy was dead, why doesn't she even check for a pulse now? Wait, what, a _poisoned comb? _How would that work?

 **JB:** Your guess is as good as mine. Anyway, the dwarfs came home, removed the comb whereupon Snow White was revived, much consternation, they told her that if anyone else came to the cottage while she was there alone, she absolutely must not let them in. Meanwhile at the castle the queen was going through the whole post-attempted-murder routine too. Rage, gnashing of teeth, new disguise. This time she meant business. She carefully prepared an odourless, tasteless poison, and taking an apple that was red on one side and green on the other, painted the poison all over the red half. She prepared yet another disguise, and carrying a basket of apples, went into the forest again the next day.

 **EG:** I bet Snow White falls for it. She would, the ninny.

 **JB: ** Yes, well, she had a very trusting nature. She did remember the dwarfs' warning not to let anyone into the cottage, but thought it would be all right to talk to the old woman, as she appeared, through the kitchen window. The old woman coaxed her to accept one of the apples as a gift. Here, at least, Snow White showed some common sense, hesitating to accept food that might have been tampered with. 'Oh, my dear, there's nothing wrong with it!' the old woman assured her. 'See, I'll take a bite myself.' And she did, from the safe, green side of the apple. Reassured, Snow White accepted the fruit and took a bite from the red side. And she fell down dead.

 **EG:** Look, is she really dead this time?

 **JB:** You wait and see.

 **EG:** I quite want her to be.

 **JB:** The dwarfs came home to find her once again lifeless on the floor. This time there was no sign of anything that could have caused her death, and they could not revive her. Weeping for the murdered princess, they carried her body a little way into the forest and built her a coffin of rock crystal, where they laid her to rest. Every day they would visit to place flowers around her and weep for her innocence and beauty, so cruelly cut down. She lay there for a year and a day, unchangingly lovely.

 **EG:** I am suspending my disbelief as hard as I can.

 **JB:** Thank you. I do appreciate it. On that day, a prince came riding through the forest. He found the dwarfs tending Snow White's grave, and struck to the heart by her beauty, asked them what had happened. On hearing the sad tale, he wept as well, and asked their leave to give her one kiss, for he thought he would never again see such beauty.

 **EG:** He wanted... to kiss... a corpse.

 **JB:** Of someone he didn't even know! He's a catch, isn't he? And this is the great part, because you see, Snow White wasn't really dead! That bite of apple had just lodged in her throat, stopping her breathing, and when he kissed her, she sort of hocked it up! And she was alive again!

 **EG:** Precisely how long was this prince's tongue? I mean, did he stimulate some sort of gag reflex?

 **JB:** I don't know! So all the dwarfs ran around singing for joy, and the prince swept Snow White up in his arms and asked her to be his bride.

 **EG:** But the apple was _poisoned_. I thought she was dead from the  poison, and it's just another asphyxiation false alarm?

 **JB: ** And she accepted!

 **EG:** They are all idiots.  


 **JB:** In some versions the prince asks the dwarfs if he can keep Snow White - apparently dead - in her coffin - as a sort of ornament. And they say yes, and when he has his servants lift up the coffin to move it, that's what ejects the apple.

 **EG:** Idiots and necrophiliacs.

 **JB:** And...

 **EG:** There's more?

 **JB:** Yep. All this time the wicked queen had been living in a fool's paradise, believing that her rival was gone forever. But one day, her mirror told her that although she was the fairest in her land, the new queen-to-be of the neighbouring kingdom was more beautiful still! Fuming, she went along to the royal wedding to get a look at the competition. When she saw that the bride was Snow White... well... some versions of the tale say that she just dropped dead from the shock. But others say that to punish her for her ill-treatment of his bride, the prince had the dwarfs make a pair of iron shoes, which were made red hot and placed before the queen with tongs. She had to put them on and dance until she _died._

 **EG: ** I... am... flabberghasted.

 **JB: ** Now, to be fair, most children nowadays are only told the dropped dead version.

 **EG:** Nevertheless, to think humans have the nerve to describe Cardassians as cruel and vindictive!

 **JB:** This story is hundreds of years old, from a much more primitive time. That's like judging Vulcans on the fact that they used to run around the desert killing each other for looking at them sideways. So, Garak, for posterity, and for anthropology, what do you think is the moral of the story?

 **EG:** Well, what's the conventional moral of the story?

 **JB: ** Oh, I want to hear your unguided impression.

 **EG:** Well, I can draw various morals at different stages of the tale. Firstly, if you are a major political figure, a background check on any potential spouse is a very good idea, including a psychological profile. If the king had realised what sort of person he was considering marrying, he could have avoided a lot of trouble for everyone.

 **JB:** Mm-hmm.

 **EG:** I believe we've already covered the importance of making certain the people you want killed are actually _dead._

 **JB: ** Is that a moral we want to instil in the young, though? **  
**

 **EG:** It's something I'd tell _my_ children - admittedly not until they're old enough to have developed good judgement. Otherwise it's all corpses in the kindergarten and angry letters home. Oh, and fear and distrust all door-to-door salespeople on principle. Yes?

 **JB:** Umm...

 **EG: ** And if all else fails, marry a psychopath who will have your enemies tortured to death.

 **JB: ** I can't help feeling something's missing here...

 **EG:** I can't help wondering, given that Snow White's survival was contingent in the end upon her beauty, how well things went once her looks changed with age... whether her husband felt quite the same about her... and how she may have responded to pretty young girls growing up to supplant her. Oh! I know! The moral is that family abuse is cyclical! I'm right, aren't I!

 **JB:** The moral is, be good and people will help you and everything will be all right in the end.

 **EG:** But that's not true.

 **JB:** I know.

 **EG:** You fascinate me, you know. You singular and you plural. We should definitely do this again.

 **JB:** We really should.

 _  
To be continued.   
_

  



	2. Cinderella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Julian relates the story of Cinderella, and scones are consumed.

### Session 2, Stardate Xxxx.xx, Elim Garak's quarters, Deep Space Nine.

[JB = Julian Bashir, EG = Elim Garak]

 **JB:** There. Now, I've given some thought to which story I should tell you this time. I've tried to pick out the one that I think most people think of first when you say 'fairy tale.'

 **EG:** Interesting. Would you say it's the most quintessential fairy tale? And would you like something to drink?

 **JB:** Just the usual tea, thanks. Scones wouldn't go amiss, either.

[Tea and scones are provided.]

I'm really not sure if it's quintessential. Anyway, you listen and see what you think. This one is called _Cinderella._

 **EG:** I am, as ever, at your disposal.

 **JB:** Very well then. Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a wealthy widower. He had one daughter by his first wife, and she was a sweet, good and beautiful child. They were the happiest of companions, but as time went by he began to feel that she needed a mother's guidance, and accordingly remarried.

 **EG:** Wait, this is _Snow White_ again, except that he's not a king.

 **JB:** No, there are variations. For one, the stepmother isn't a witch. For another, she was also a widow and brought to the marriage her own daughters, two of them, extremely spoiled girls, whose faces, from being constantly scrunched up in looks of petulance and contempt, had become very ugly.

 **EG:** All right...

 **JB: ** But yes, she was another wicked stepmother. You get a lot of those in these stories. She resented and disliked the little girl for being her father's favourite, etcetera. When he died and she became mistress of the household, she and her daughters made our heroine their servant and she had to do all the drudge-work. She had no bedroom of her own and had to sleep as best she could in the kitchen. To keep warm at night she would curl up by the hearth, so that she was always stained with ash and cinders, and her stepsisters mocked her and called her Cinderella.

 **EG:** Hence the title. Do all these girls have such descriptive names?

 **JB:** There's even another heroine called Snow White, who has a sister called Rose Red. Still, let's not get sidetracked.

 **EG:** Will there be dwarfs?

 **JB:** No! So Cinderella had a very hard life, but she tried to keep cheerful and do her best in the hope that eventually her stepmother would relent toward her. And so it went on, through the years, until Cinderella and her stepsisters were old enough to think of getting married.

 **EG:** Mm-hmm.

 **JB:** Now it came to pass that the prince of the kingdom where they lived was also of marriageable age, and it was proclaimed throughout the land that a grand ball would be held so that he might meet eligible young ladies.

 **EG:** May I interrupt to say that I do enjoy the slightly archaic diction you adopt when telling these things?

 **JB:** You may, but don't make a habit of it. An invitation was sent to Cinderella's house, and her stepsisters went into transports of excitement at the thought that one of them might catch the prince's eye and become a princess, and in turn, queen of all the land. Their mother, ambitious for them to rise in society, encouraged them and spent a great deal of money on their outfits for the ball. Beautiful fabrics and jewels and accessories like fans and gloves and slippers were brought to the house for their approval, and Cinderella had to help them to try everything on and make their choices. She sighed over the beautiful things and their conversations about how glamorous and glorious the ball would be, and the sisters mocked her, saying that a dirty, ragged serving girl like her would never be allowed at such a select gathering. Meanwhile each stepsister was trying to sabotage the other's outfit to make sure that she would be the more dazzling one.

At last the big night arrived. Cinderella helped her sisters and stepmother to dress, arrange their hair, put on their jewels, perfume and generally adorn themselves, then waved goodbye as they got into their carriage and rode off, leaving her alone. She went into the kitchen, sat down by the fireplace and cried with loneliness and disappointment.

 **EG:** On the bright side, nobody is trying to cut her heart out or poison her.

 **JB:** Yes, there's that. Well, just when she thought it was hopeless and she might as well try to go to sleep, there was a sparkle of light amid the cinders, which grew into a glow, and then, to Cinderella's astonishment, there appeared a magical lady! She told Cinderella that she was her fairy godmother, come to help her in her hour of need. And she said those wonderful words, 'You _shall_ go to the ball!'

 **EG:** Well, why didn't the fairy godmother ever help her before? A fat lot of use she is.

 **JB:** It's no use to argue with this sort of thing. Cinderella protested 'But how can I go? I have no way to get there. It's too far to walk.' Her fairy godmother just winked, and picking up a pumpkin from the pantry, carried it outside and rapped on it with her wand. Immediately, it became a handsome coach. She waved her wand, and out from the foundations of the house ran a rat, four mice and two lizards. A tap on each of their heads, and they became a coachman, four fine white horses, and two sleek footmen. 'Oh, how wonderful!' cried Cinderella. Then she looked down at herself, at her bare, grubby feet, her threadbare dress, her chapped hands, and her shoulders sagged. 'But I still can't go if I have nothing to wear, and I'm such a mess,' she lamented. 'Never fear!' said the fairy godmother, and with another tap of her wand, Cinderella was clean and perfumed, her hair in a shining coil, and wearing the most beautiful gown she had ever seen. The finishing touch was on her feet: a pair of glass slippers.

 **EG:** Now come on. I'll accept mice into horses and so on, but glass shoes just would not work. You would just skitter around, and soon they'd break, and then where would you be? You could put glass shoes on a wicked stepmother to punish her, for that matter.

 **JB:** Well, a lot of people have said that. One theory is that it's actually a mistake, that the word was 'vair,' which means a kind of fur, and it got written down as 'verre,' meaning glass. But it's precisely the magical, impossible image of the glass slipper that people _love_.

 **EG:** Oh. Like the dead girl in the crystal coffin not rotting at all for a year?

 **JB:** Um, exactly. So Cinderella hugged her fairy godmother and thanked her very much, and the fairy godmother said to think nothing of it, just to go to the ball and have a wonderful time. 'But listen carefully,' she said. 'You must get home before midnight. The spell will only last until then. At midnight everything I have enchanted will change back.'

 **EG:** Why?

 **JB:** No idea. Everything has limits. So Cinderella was helped into the pumpkin coach by the lizard footmen, and the rat coachman cracked his whip, and the mouse horses took off at a great rate. It seemed no time before she arrived at the palace, where the reception hall and the ballroom were a blaze of glittering light, and all the finest people of the kingdom were dancing and eating and drinking and generally being fabulous. Cinderella would have been quite content simply to look on and enjoy the beauty, but she was quickly asked to dance by a very handsome young man. Had she been a little more politically aware, she might have known that this was the prince himself.

 **EG:** And I would just like to give him credit for being attracted to a _living_ woman.

 **JB:** Quite. He thought she was the most charming and delightful girl he'd ever met, and she thought he was the most gorgeous and adorable gentleman she'd ever seen. They danced and danced, and rested and talked, and danced some more, and fell head over heels in love. Meanwhile the stepsisters sulked, because nobody was asking them to dance, not with their snotty expressions and rotten attitudes, and the prince was being monopolised by some strange woman nobody had ever heard of. They didn't even recognise Cinderella when she was clean and dressed up, with her face shining with happiness. She kept a careful eye on the time, and although the prince begged her to stay a little longer, she left well before midnight. She reached home safely, thanked her godmother again, the beautiful things changed back to their ordinary selves, and she was ready to meet her stepmother and stepsisters on their return, very disappointed and able to talk of nothing but that awful girl who had spoiled the ball for everyone by hogging the prince.

 **EG:** Hang on. Didn't the prince and Cinderella make any arrangement to meet again?

 **JB:** Well, that's just the problem. He hadn't asked her name, and he'd just assumed she knew who he was. He had no idea who she was or where she lived, so the only way to see her again was to hold another ball and hope she would attend that too.

 **EG:** Twit.

 **JB:** So it all happened again. The stepsisters got very excited because they thought they had another chance. They got new gowns, because it wouldn't do to be seen in the same thing twice, and they made a lot of very cutting remarks about how poorly Cinderella compared with themselves, or even with the mystery girl, who they agreed had really been quite tartily dressed and probably just turned the prince's head with her bosom. And once they had left for the ball, the fairy godmother reappeared, made everything ready, and sent Cinderella off in her turn.

 **EG:** No doubt advising her to close the deal this time.

 **JB:** She said nothing of the sort. So Cinderella and her prince had another wonderful evening together. Things like names and addresses just didn't seem important. She was so caught up in the delight of dancing with him that she completely lost track of time, and only came to her senses when she heard the first stroke of midnight. With a cry of shock, she tore herself away from him and ran like mad for the door, afraid that at any moment her beautiful dress would disappear and she would be revealed as an ashy little ragamuffin.The prince ran after her but was impeded by the crowds of people in the ballroom. By the time he got to the front steps of the palace, the last stroke of midnight was fading and there was no trace of the beautiful beloved but one glass slipper on the flagstones. She had tripped and run right out of it. He asked all the palace guards but nobody had seen a lady leaving, only a servant girl who seemed in a hurry to get home.

 **EG:** Wait, why is the glass slipper still there? Shouldn't it have disappeared or changed back into an ordinary shoe or something?

 **JB:** Glass slippers are special. Do you want to hear about Cinderella or not?

 **EG:** I am agog to hear.

 **JB:** The prince was most dismayed. Then it occurred to him that he had never seen anything like this slipper before. It was surely custom-made. If he could find the girl it belonged to, that must be the girl he wanted to marry. So he sent out another proclamation declaring that he would try the slipper on every young woman who had been at the ball to prove to himself which was the right one.

 **EG:** Because he wouldn't know her face or her voice. Was he really just looking at her bosom all this time?

 **JB:** Please, Garak. Be good. For me. So he went around every house to which an invitation had been sent. When he came to Cinderella's house, the stepsisters competed like mad to win him over, but he was only interested in the girl who fit the slipper, and one of them had feet too big, and the other had feet too small. Watching from the hallway, Cinderella realised that this was her only chance. She stepped forward and shyly asked if she could try the slipper too. Of course the stepsisters simply hooted at this. She couldn't possibly think she was the prince's dream girl. She would get the precious shoe dirty with her grubby little trotters. She should go back to her hole in the kitchen and stop bothering her betters. The prince didn't recognise Cinderella at first, for she looked so different with smuts on her face and her hair bundled under a rag, but he was a gentleman and said 'Of course you may try.'

 **EG:** So she put it on and it fitted perfectly?

 **JB:** Exactly. And what's more, she produced the matching slipper from her skirt pocket, to show that it wasn't just a coincidence. The prince swept her up in his arms and kissed her and asked her to marry him, and she said -

 **EG:** I don't want to marry anyone who can't remember what I look like.

 **JB:** Stop it. She said yes. On realising that their despised Cinderella was going to be elevated to the highest in the land, the stepsisters burst into tears and threw themselves at her feet, grovelling like anything and begging for her forgiveness. Kindly, Cinderella raised them to their feet and forgave them all their mistreatment of her. Together, they all went to the palace, where Cinderella married her prince, the stepsisters married two of his lords, and they all lived happily ever after.

 **EG:** That's it?

 **JB:** That's it.

 **EG:** Nobody was tortured to death as entertainment at the wedding reception?

JB: Well, I _have_ heard of a version in which the stepsisters are put into a barrel lined with nails and rolled down a hill. And in another birds peck out their eyes and they become blind beggars. After having mutilated their own feet to try to make them fit into the slipper.

 **EG:** Now, _there's_ the fairy-tale touch.

 **JB:** All right. The tale is told, so please tell me what you think the moral is.

 **EG:** Hmm. I would say... when people have treated you badly but you later become wildly successful and powerful, put them in your debt by being nice to them and make them do whatever you want for the rest of their lives, quietly enjoying the knowledge that you own them and they know it too.

 **JB:** Oh God.

 **EG:** What marvellous court intrigues Cinderella can have, making her stepsisters do her bidding!

 **JB:** Ah, yes. Well, actually, I think you'll quite like the real moral, because it's nearly as cynical as that. Here's what Charles Perrault added when he published the story. 'Without doubt it is a great advantage to have intelligence, courage, good breeding, and common sense. These, and similar talents come only from heaven, and it is good to have them. However, even these may fail to bring you success, without the blessing of a godfather or a godmother.'

 **EG:** I like that man's style.

 **JB:** And I honestly thought that was the most cynical anyone could be about the story of Cinderella, but yet again, you have opened my eyes to broad new vistas of misanthropy.

 **EG:** I'm so glad that I can be a mentor to you in this way. In fact, in a way, wouldn't you say I am your fairy godfather?

 **JB: ** You're not particularly fairylike. Still, I suppose I would go to you if I needed something non-uniform to wear to a formal function. All right, I'd better go - O'Brien will be waiting for me. My place next time?

 **EG:** I shall look forward to it.

 _To be continued._


	3. Little Red Riding Hood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Garak's Cardassian family values are challenged.

### Julian Bashir's quarters, Deep Space Nine

[JB = Julian Bashir, EG = Elim Garak]

 **JB:** Try the cake.

 **EG:** We seem to be eating more each time we do one of these.

 **JB:** There's just something about stories and tea-time - they seem to go together. Either tea-time or bedtime. Now, this time, I've done lots of research and I think I've found a story that will really _offend_ you on multiple levels.

 **EG:** You shouldn't go to such trouble for me.

 **JB:** It's a pleasure, I assure you! I even have three versions of the same tale for you to enjoy, French, Italian and Chinese. The Chinese one is the nastiest, so I'm saving it for last. It made me feel a bit sick, I must say.

 **EG:** So I should enjoy my cake before you get to that stage. Thank you.

 **JB:** Would you like a cushion? I do want you to be comfortable and cosy. That's an important part of hearing a bloodcurdling story. Ideally we should be sitting by a fireplace, with a cold dark night outside - well, at least we have the cold dark night outside.

 **EG:** I am delightfully cosy, thank you.  


 **JB: ** Very well. Then listen as I unfold the terrible tale of Little Red Riding Hood. Once upon a time there was a little girl whose doting mother made her a fine little hooded riding cloak of warm red wool. She liked it so much that she wore it everywhere, and the people round about all called her Little Red Riding Hood.

 **EG:** The descriptive names are rather a motif, aren't they? I suppose the mother's going to die soon.

 **JB:** No, actually, the mother will be fine. One day she said to Little Red Riding Hood, 'Your granny is not well. I want you to take this basket of food to her.' This was quite a responsibility, for Little Red's grandmother lived in a cottage in the forest, and the way there was dark and lonely.

 **EG:** Well, what an impractical arrangement. These people need some Cardassian family values. The grandmother should live with her family, and be the beloved and respected matriarch, consulted for her wisdom in all decisions, and sit at the head of the table and choose first from all the dishes. Leaving her out in the forest by herself and sending some food along every now and then is positively unfeeling. And inconvenient for everyone.

 **JB:** Well, some commentators on the tale have thought that perhaps Granny was a witch or wise-woman and lived alone in the forest by choice. Be that as it may, Little Red's mother assured her that she would be fine as long as she went straight to the cottage and stayed firmly on the path.

 **EG:** Something's going to go wro-ong.

 **JB: ** Little Red Riding Hood set off, wrapped in her warm red cloak and swinging the basket in her hand. She followed the path from the village, through the fields, and into the forest. This was a very dark and old forest, where the trees grew up so tall and thick that they blocked out all but a few fragments of sunlight. Unseen animals moved quietly on their secret paths, and sometimes she heard hunting cries. Little Red pulled her cloak more tightly around her and walked on.

And then, by the side of the path, she met the Wolf.

 **EG:** Ominous.

 **JB:** The Wolf spoke to her kindly, asking her what a dear little girl like her was doing all alone in this terrible forest.

 **EG:** It's a talking wolf.

 **JB:** Roll with it. Quite forgetting all her parents' good advice about not talking to strangers, Little Red explained all about her errand to her grandmother's cottage. The wolf listened with great interest and wished her well, saying 'Now be sure to go straight there, and be careful, for not all the forest animals are friendly and nice like me!'

 **EG:** Oh dear.

 **JB:** I find it helps if you imagine the wolf has a voice very like Gul Dukat.

 **EG:** It _does!_ Go on.

 **JB:** Well, Little Red continued along the path, and the wolf disappeared into the forest. Then he ran at great speed and by all the shortcuts he knew, to arrive at Granny's cottage well before the little girl. He knocked at the door, and when Granny opened it, he leapt inside and ate her up.

 **EG:** Entirely unprovoked!

 **JB:** He was a very bad wolf. He tidied up the traces of the attack. Now, some people say that he ate the grandmother up entirely. Some even maintain that he swallowed her whole. But others say, and I'm afraid this is the version we're going with, that there was some flesh left over, and some blood. He bottled the blood and salted the meat and put them in the pantry. Then he put on the grandmother's nightcap and gown, and got into her bed to wait for Little Red Riding Hood.

 **EG:** Really, Doctor? _Really?_  


 **JB:** Now if this is too frightening for you, I do have a teddy-bear you can hold onto.

 **EG:** I'm not frightened... I'm just rather aghast.

 **JB:** Just let me know if you change your mind. He's an excellent teddy-bear. So Little Red came along the path to her grandmother's cottage and knocked on the door. The wolf disguised his voice and called out 'Come in, please... I'm not well enough to get out of bed.' So Little Red Riding Hood came in.

 **EG:** And screamed at the sight of a wolf in her grandmother's bed and ran straight home.

 **JB:** Nope! You must remember that in fairy-tales, the crudest disguises are remarkably impenetrable. She came up to the bedside and greeted her 'grandmother,' showing her the food her mother had sent. 'How kind of you, my dear,' said the wolf. 'Please put that in the pantry - and there's some meat and wine in there for you.' Little Red Riding Hood did as she was told, and ate the meat and drank the 'wine.'  


 **EG:** Eugh!

 **JB:** I know. And there was a little cat, that hissed to itself 'A slut is she who eats the flesh and drinks the blood of her grandmother!'

 **EG:** Well, that's rather judgemental. She's only an unwitting cannibal.

 **JB:** Quite. She went back to her 'grandmother,' who asked her to build up the fire, as she was feeling rather cold. So she did. When she had a fine blaze going, the wolf said 'My dear, are you not a trifle warm in that cloak? Do take it off.' So the little girl took off her fine red riding hood, and looked around for a place to hang it. 'Throw it on the fire,' said the wolf. 'You won't need it any more.' And she obeyed.

 ** EG:  ** _Get out of there, Red Riding Hood._   


**JB:** Next, the wolf asked her if she weren't a trifle warm in that dress. When Red Riding Hood agreed that she was rather overheated, the wolf commanded her again to take it off and throw it on the fire, for she wouldn't be needing it any more. And as if enchanted, the little girl obeyed. Finally, in the same way, the wolf had her discard and burn her undergarments. And then he invited her to get into bed beside him.

 **EG: ** Julian! This is taking a turn that I don't like one little bit!

 **JB:** Now that they were so close together and his hot breath was on her face, Little Red Riding Hood began to notice that there was something rather odd about her 'grandmother.' 'Granny,' she said, 'what big eyes you have.' 'The better to see you with, my dear,' the wolf replied. 'And Granny, what big ears you have.' 'The better to hear you with my dear.' 'And Granny... what big _teeth_ you have.' 'The better to _eat_ you with, my dear!'

 **EG:** Gah!

 **JB:** I'm sorry! Are you all right?

 **EG:** Don't lunge at me like that! I almost spilled my tea.

 **JB: ** It's a very traditional part of telling this story. And with that, the big bad wolf pounced on Little Red Riding Hood, and ate her up.

 **EG: ** _ Seriously? _

**JB:** I'm afraid so.

 **EG:** But the poor girl hadn't done anything wrong! She was trying to be helpful! What in the world are you going to tell me is the moral of _this _ story? Inadvertently be a cannibal slut, get devoured?

 **JB:** Don't talk to strangers, even if they seem friendly; they may be dangerous.

 **EG:** How about, don't send young children on errands by themselves through dark forests? How did anybody manage to raise a family in those days?

 **JB:** Child mortality was rather high. Though admittedly, not usually due to wolves in disguise as grandmothers. The wolf, as Perrault clarified in the afterword to his published version of the tale, is a metaphor for sexual predators, men who initially seem kind and friendly but will do terrible things to innocent and trusting young women. Pretty rough stuff, I know. You may be glad to hear that the Brothers Grimm, in their version, didn't just leave Little Red to be wolfed down. At the crucial moment, just as the wolf is about to pounce, a hunter or woodsman who has been tracking him all day bursts into the cottage and shoots him dead.  


 **EG:** That's marginally better, but still very hard on the grandmother. She wasn't doing anything wrong either, and she's been eaten by a wolf.

 **JB:** Well, as time goes by, you get more and more revisionist versions of the story that try to reduce the innocent victim body count. My favourite version has the wolf swallowing the grandmother whole, then falling asleep in her bed, because it's so warm and comfortable and he's so very full. When Little Red arrives, she lets herself in without waking him up. She's putting away the food when she hears a little voice. It's her grandmother, inside the wolf's belly! She's still alive!

 **EG:** Oh, really!

 **JB:** Pipe down, you're going to like this. She tells Little Red to get out her sewing basket, take out the scissors and very carefully cut open the wolf's belly.

 **EG:** And he doesn't wake up the second he feels the blades?

 **JB:** Nope, he sleeps clear through. In the same way that people can be swallowed whole and remain alive in the belly of the beast, apparently you can do major surgery without anaesthetic and without even any particular mess. Little Red helps out her grandmother, rather damp and smelly but essentially unharmed, they embrace, and Granny reveals the next step of her plan. Little Red runs outside and gathers lots of heavy rocks, which they load into the wolf's stomach. Then they sew him up very neatly, and Granny sprinkles a lot of salt on his tongue. Then they run outside to hide and wait. Presently the wolf awakens, with a raging thirst and terrible indigestion. 'This grandmother is sitting like lead,' he thinks to himself. Looking around and seeing that Little Red has apparently not yet arrived, he thinks he has time to get a drink of water, so clutching his heavy belly, he goes outside to the well. He leans in to reach the bucket, and just at that moment, the girl and her grandmother rush out from hiding and give him a push. Overbalancing and weighed down by the stones in his belly, he falls straight down the well and drowns! And _that_ was the end of the big bad wolf.

 **EG:** I have to admit, I like the fact that they defeat him through cunning rather than brute force. However, a dead wolf in your water source cannot be healthy.

 **JB: ** Well, I expect they had to fill that well in and dig a new one, but it was still a victory for our side. Now, would you like to hear the Italian version?

 **EG:** I believe I need to fortify myself with more cake first. That was quite draining. You have such a pleasant voice, it quite lulled me until you suddenly burst out with 'The better to _eat_ you with!'

 **JB:** All very traditional.

 **EG:** Is there a very high rate of crippling wolf-phobia among humans, do you know?

 **JB:** Not particularly. We tend to take these little tales in stride once we grow up. The wolf's pretty scary when you're little, I'll admit. One of my kindergarten teachers used to tell the story with a sort of double-ended doll - it had one grandmother head and one wolf head, and you reversed its skirt at the critical moments.

 **EG: ** All right. I believe I'm ready to hear the second version. Any more cannibalism coming up?

 **JB:** Afraid so!

 **EG: ** Go on, then.

 **JB:** Now this version of the story features an ogre rather than a wolf. I would still recommend the Gul Dukat casting, though. And a very similar story is also told in parts of France, but featuring a sort of werewolf, a wolf-man shapeshifter, called a loup-garou or bzou. So you just imagine a wolf or a bzou or an ogre, however you prefer. This is called 'La Finta Nonna,' which in the old language of Italy means 'The Fake Grandmother.' And in one respect I think it will please you, because it features a more cunning and resourceful heroine, but no wild surgical implausibilities.

 **EG:** I am prepared.

 **JB: ** Once upon a time there was a little girl whose mother sent her on an errand, to take a basket of food to her grandmother's house. No special headgear is mentioned, but again, you may imagine it if you like. Some versions of the story suggest that it was the bright red of her clothing that attracted the wolf's attention in the first place.

 **EG:** Blaming the victim for attracting her assailant?

 **JB:** Unfortunately common in our past. So she went along her way happily, until she encountered the ogre, who pretended to be a harmless creature and engaged her in pleasant conversation. Secretly, of course, he wanted to eat her up. And as in the first story, he went on ahead, while she walked along, dilly-dallying a bit, I must admit, looking at the scenery and chasing the butterflies. And so the ogre got to the grandmother's house well ahead of her, and devoured the unfortunate old lady. This time, he saved her teeth and her ears. He put the teeth to boil in a soup, as if they were beans, and battered the ears and fried them up in a pan.

 **EG:** Now there's a detail that brings the story vividly to life. Are all ogres such imaginative cooks?

 **JB:** I'd like to think so. Well, in due time, the girl arrived, and found the ogre waiting in disguise as her grandmother. He thanked her for bringing the food, and told her she could have some of the soup and fritters standing on the stove. The girl tried the soup, and said 'Nonna, these beans are awfully hard.' 'Oh? Perhaps I didn't soak them long enough,' said the ogre. She tasted the fritters, and said 'Nonna, these fritters are terribly tough.' 'Oh? Perhaps they're a little overdone,' said the ogre.

 **EG:** Does he get some sort of perverse kick out of seeing little girls eat parts of their grandmothers before he kills them?

 **JB:** Who can fathom the psychopathology of an ogre? And once again, they went through the whole clothes-off-and-onto-the-fire routine. _But. _ Naked in bed with the ogre, the little girl began to suspect that something was up. He had been keeping to the shadows, but she could see him better now. She started to feel very frightened and keen to be away from there, but knew that he would catch her if she simply tried to make a run for it. So, as he snuggled up to her, she said 'Nonna, I need to go to the loo.' 'That's all right,' the ogre sighed against her neck. 'Just do it here. I don't mind if you wet the bed.' 'But it's Number Two,' the little girl protested, and would not drop the matter until he agreed that she could get out and go to the lavatory, which was an outdoor long-drop. 'But I'm worried that you'll get lost in the dark, my dear,' said the ogre, 'so I'll tie a string to your ankle and hold the other end.'

'All right,' said the little girl, and she let him tie the knot and pattered out the side door into the night, naked as she was. She lost no time in unpicking his knot and tying the string to a tree, and ran for home as fast as she could.

 **EG: ** Well done!  


 **JB:** The ogre lay in bed for a while, salivating. He grew impatient, though, wondering what was taking so long. 'What are you doing out there?' he called. 'Number Three?' And he gave a tug on the string. When he felt that it didn't yield, he bolted out of bed and ran outside, where he discovered the ruse of the tree. Howling with rage, he raced off after the little girl. She heard him coming after her and her heart leapt with fear! She ran and ran and ran until she came to the river, where a group of washerwomen were rinsing soapy sheets, holding them between them as they stood one on each bank. 'Oh please!' she called out to them. 'Stretch a sheet tight for me!' They did, and she leapt onto it and ran across it as if it were a bridge. Just as she reached the other side, the enraged ogre burst out of the woods. 'Hold that sheet if you know what's good for you,' he snarled at the washerwomen. They did - until he was in the middle of the river, and then both sides let go at once, and he fell, and got tangled in the sheet, was washed away in the current, and drowned. That was the end of the ogre. And so, the little girl got home safely.  


 **EG:** Hurrah for her - and for the resourceful washerwomen. A pity, though, that the grandmother is still dead through no fault of her own.

 **JB:** I'm afraid grandmothers are just collateral damage sometimes.

 **EG:** Moral: Don't be afraid to use disgusting bodily functions to get out of an uncomfortable situation.

 **JB:** I'd buy that for a credit.

 **EG:** May I just say that the details you introduced, of the ogre snuggling up to the little girl and sighing against her neck, were extremely creepy?  


 **JB:** I was proud of that.

 **EG:** Especially in Dukat's voice. It's a good thing I never liked him in the first place.

 **JB:** And now... if you are ready... if you think you are brave enough... I may proceed to relate the bone-chilling tale of Grandmother Tiger.

 **EG:** Tiger, not wolf?

 **JB:** Different ecosystem, different apex predator. This is the Chinese story, remember?

 **EG:** It's so strange to see your face express evil glee. Go on, doctor.

 **JB: ** Right! Now, once upon a time, in old China, there lived a little family, a father, a mother, and their two daughters, living in a little house near the forest. The father was a hunter, but one day he went into the forest and did not come back. They never saw him again, and they suspected a tiger had eaten him. The mother did her best to look after the little girls on her own, but without the meat her husband had brought home there was not enough food. One morning she said to the girls, 'I'm going to walk to my sister's house in the next valley and ask if we can go and live with her. I want you to take care of each other while I'm gone. Be very good, and don't open the door to anyone who isn't family.' She packed up some cold rice to eat on the way, kissed them goodbye and left.

Halfway along the road to her sister's house was a pagoda where travellers could stop and rest. As it was beginning to rain heavily, the mother ran in gladly. As she shook the water from her hair and clothes, she saw that there was a little old woman already sitting inside. The mother, being a well-bred woman trained to respect her elders, greeted her politely and sat down beside her. She opened her box of rice, and seeing that the old woman had no food of her own, offered her half.

 **EG:** Ah! And the old woman turned out to be a fairy in disguise, who to reward her for her kindness, granted her three wishes!

 **JB:** Elim Garak, have you been reading fairy tales behind my back?

 **EG:** Maybe just one or two.

 **JB:** Well, _don't._ I need to get your first, fresh impressions of these stories. Anyway, the old woman was  not a fairy in disguise. She was, as I would have got around to telling you, Grandmother Tiger, the hungriest, greediest creature in the world.

 **EG:** A shapeshifter, I take it?

 **JB:** Precisely. She ate up her half of the rice in two bites and sat looking longingly at the portion the mother had left. Feeling guilty, the mother divided that again, keeping only a quarter for herself. When the rice was all gone, Grandmother Tiger sighed 'Oh, I'm still so hungry!' 'I'm very sorry,' said the mother, 'but I have nothing left to give you.' 'You could give me one of your hands,' said Grandmother Tiger. 'You don't really need two, do you?' 'I suppose not,' said the mother, and she let Grandmother Tiger eat one of her hands. But Grandmother Tiger was still hungry, and she began begging and wheedling to be allowed to eat the other hand too. The mother was just too polite and elder-respecting to say no. And so it went on until the poor woman had been eaten up entirely.

 **EG:** Am I to take this as a criticism of Cardassian family values?

 **JB:** No, Confucian ones, I think. Anyway, once she had finished off the mother, Grandmother Tiger licked her chops, smoothed her hair and set out along the woman's trail. When she came to the little house, she could smell juicy little children inside. 'Mmmmm,' thought Grandmother Tiger, and she knocked at the door. 'Hello, my dears,' she called out. 'Let me in. It's your grandmother - your mother has sent me to take care of you while she's away.'

Well, their mother had said it was all right to open the door to family, so the little girls opened the door and let her in. She sat down at the table and demanded food. The little girls cooked everything they had in the house, which was not much, and served it to her. Grandmother Tiger ate every crumb while they watched, too polite to ask for a share. When all their food was gone, she licked her chops and said 'Time for bed.'

Now, in China in those days, it was usual for the family to share a bed, so the little girls found nothing odd about going to bed with their grandmother. Though they were hungry, they hoped she might get some food for them in the morning, so they snuggled down and went to sleep.

After midnight, the older sister woke up. She had been disturbed by strange wet smacking sounds. She put out her hand to touch her sister's, and found it limp and wet with blood. _Grandmother Tiger was eating her sister, right there in the bed with her._

 **EG:** I'm not even shocked any more, so don't look at me expectantly. This is just the sort of thing you people would think of.

 **JB: ** It all fell into place in the little girl's mind. She knew her mother wasn't coming home. The only one who could save her was herself. 'Grandmother,' she whispered, 'I need to go to the loo.'

'Just do it here,' Grandmother Tiger said, with her mouth full. 'I don't care if you wet the bed.'  


 **EG: ** Ah, so across cultures, child-eating, grandmother-impersonating predators condone bed-wetting. That's useful to know.

 **JB: ** Make a note, won't you. Like her Italian equivalent, the little girl protested that she wouldn't just be _wetting_ the bed, and she really, really needed to go outside. 'Oh, all right,' said Grandmother Tiger, ungraciously, for she wanted to finish eating the younger girl in peace. 'But just so you don't get lost in the dark, my dear, I'll tie a string around your ankle and hold the other end.' And she tied around the girl's ankle - are you ready for this? - _a loop of her dead sister's intestines._

 **EG:** Now you're just trying to - what's the phrase? Gross me out.

 **JB:** I'm not making anything up. This is all authentic folklore, gross or not. So, trailing her grisly rope, the little girl went outside, her heart pounding in her chest. There was nowhere she could run to, and nobody to help her. She climbed up into the branches of a tree that grew by the house, and sat there thinking desperately. She was still thinking when she heard Grandmother Tiger's voice at the foot of the tree. 'You silly girl,' the old woman said, 'that's no place to do your business. Come down and come back to bed.' Just then, inspiration struck. 'Oh Grandmother,' the little girl said, 'I've found a nest of the sweetest little baby birds! If you heat up some oil in a pot and bring it to me, I can drop them in and fry them for you right here!'

'Yum,' said Grandmother Tiger, licking her chops, and she went back to the kitchen, heated oil in a pot until it was spitting and bubbling and brought it out to the little girl. She handed it up to her and stood under the tree, looking up expectantly. 'All right,' the little girl called down, 'I have the first one ready. Open wide!' 'Aaaaah,' said Grandmother Tiger, opening her great jaws wide. The little girl poured the searing hot oil straight down her throat, and that was the end of Grandmother Tiger.

 **EG: ** The collective imagination of your species is an absolute charnel house, isn't it? Well? What happened to the little girl after that?

 **JB: ** The story doesn't say.

 **EG: ** Oh, wonderful. Stuck up a tree with guts around her leg, an orphan, alone in the world. Happily ever after!

 **JB:** I didn't promise you happily ever after, you know.  


 **EG:** I think she became a hunter, supported herself, and slew all manner of dangerous beasts that threatened the young and helpless. Though I dare say she suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder for the rest of her life.  


 **JB: ** That's very nice. I approve. Now, any thoughts as to the moral of this story?

 **EG:** Don't feed stray old people; it only encourages them. Furthermore: the world is a hostile and bewildering place. Anyone you meet may be out to get you, purely to satisfy their own cruel appetites. All that you love can be destroyed at any time. Your parents can't protect you. Your siblings can't help you. There will be no fairy godmother and no hunter ex machina. The only person you can depend upon is yourself. Good luck, kiddies!

 **JB: ** Well, is that better or worse than 'Be good and people will help you and everything will work out in the end'?  


 **EG:** I don't know. You've confused me. I started out wanting these stories to be a bit more harshly realistic and now I want some comforting illusions. Not... dead little girls with their entrails all spread out over a bed. Yuk.

 **JB:** No, that is a distressing image. You have to understand that I have a certain... cultural detachment from these stories, because to us, 'fairy tale' is as much as to say 'not real, nothing to worry about.' The people... aren't quite real people. They don't really think or feel as we would. The people who originated and handed down these stories were interested in two things, entertainment value and making a cautionary point, not psychological realism. We didn't get interested in that until much later.

 **EG:** All those grisly deaths are entertaining for children?

 **JB:** Inasmuch as being scared while knowing you're really safe is entertaining... yes.

 **EG:** I don't expect ever to be a father, but if I am, you are _not_ babysitting.

 **JB: ** What sort of stories do you tell Cardassian children?

 **EG:** There's a lovely nursery edition of _The Neverending Sacrifice ,_ slightly abridged and simplified for the little ones.

 **JB:** I wish you'd lent me that one, then. Well, I'm sorry to have traumatised you.

 **EG:** Oh, I'm quite resilient to trauma. By the way,I imagined Grandmother Tiger looking and sounding like Kai Winn.

 **JB:** Ooh, that's fantastic. I wish I'd thought of that!

 **EG: ** Well, it's getting late, but I do look forward to the next time.

 **JB:** I'll try to choose something a bit less gruesome.

 **EG:** Really? You disappoint me.

 _ To be continued. _


	4. Jack and the Beanstalk

**Stardate Xxxx.xx, Dr Bashir's quarters, Deep Space Nine.**

[JB = Julian Bashir, EG = Elim Garak]

 **JB:** Right! Tea, hot buttered toast, I believe we're all set.

 **EG:** It's an interesting idea, toast. Cook the bread... then cook it again.

 **JB:** We could have crumpets, too. It's wonderful how the melty butter runs down into all the little holes. Then you spread honey on top, and let it soften up a bit, and oof... heavenly.

 **EG:** I thought you were a jam man.

 **JB:** Jam for scones. Honey for crumpets. The distinction is important. Anyway... well, crumpets, they're very English, and today's story is also very English, though possibly with some Viking antecedents. This is the tale of Jack and the Beanstalk.

 **EG:** I see. So a story about a boy this time, rather than a girl.  
 **  
JB:** Yes, a bit of variety. Once upon a time there was a young lad called Jack, who lived with his widowed mother in a little cottage. Now they were poor peasants, and they depended for their income on their cow. Every day they would milk the cow and sell her milk at market. They never had enough money to buy any more animals, or to start a vegetable garden, but as long as the cow gave good milk they were all right, on a subsistence level. Unfortunately, the cow stopped giving milk. Completely dry. She was just too old. Jack's mother wrung her hands in despair.

 **EG:** Is Jack old enough to find a job?

 **JB:** That's just what he suggested, but as his mother pointed out, he had tried to find work before with no luck. It's possible that local employers weren't terribly impressed by him. All they could think of now was to sell the cow to a butcher, and with the money for her meat, start some other kind of business. So Jack set out for market, leading the cow. He had not gone far when he met an odd old man along the way.

 **EG:** Can we please just establish this now: is anyone eaten up in this story?

 **JB:** It is threatened but the threat is never fulfilled. And the old man isn't going to eat anyone.

 **EG:** Had Earth a great history of cannibalism?

 **JB:** Oh, yes, heaps.

 **EG:** You say that so casually!

 **JB:** Well, we did! Both cannibalism out of necessity, for lack of other meat, and for cultural reasons - the belief that by eating a slain enemy's flesh, one absorbed his life force or mana, or that by eating a portion of a deceased ancestor, one kept them alive in the next generation...

 **EG:** That is truly repulsive.

 **JB:** I hope you're not assuming that I approve. Eating your granny is an excellent way to get Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. It's extremely unsanitary.

 **EG:** Oh, so Little Red Riding Hood was at risk of that as well?

 **JB:** Oh, not so much, no, because she didn't have any of the brain.

 **EG:** Can you get it from eating, say, your murdered stepdaughter's heart?  
 **  
JB:** You do know that I'm teasing, don't you? Cannibalism is terrible. Appalling. Nobody would do it now unless it was that or starve to death, and even then they'd feel terrible about it.

 **EG:** Of course I'm aware that you're teasing. Your tone was entirely too arch and your eyes entirely too twinkly for you to be in earnest. I'm just looking for some sort of conceptual synthesis. Anyway, proceed; Jack has met this old man _en route_ to selling his cow.

 **JB:** Well. The old man greeted him: 'Hallo, Jack!' Jack was rather surprised, because he didn't recall ever meeting this fellow before, but he said hallo back and they chatted a bit about the weather and their health and so on. Eventually the old man asked what Jack was doing and Jack told him he was on his way to sell the cow. 'Well,' said the old man, 'I haven't any money on me, but I like the look of that cow, and I can offer you a swap.' 'Go on,' said Jack. The old man produced a small drawstring back from his pocket. 'In this bag,' he said in a low, mysterious tone, 'I have _magic beans.'_

'Really?' said Jack. 'What do they do?' 'Why,' said the old man, 'they'll grow overnight into a beanstalk as high as the clouds!' Well, Jack saw his future as a bean magnate all laid out for him. 'You're on,' he said, and they shook hands and exchanged cow for beans. Jack turned back for home, very pleased to have made such a successful sale without even walking all the way to town.

 **EG:** This has something of the mercantile tang of a Ferengi story.

 **JB:** Hmm. You wait and see. Jack got home, and his mother eagerly greeted him. 'You've sold the cow!' she said gladly. 'What did you get for her?' 'You'll never guess,' said Jack grandly. 'Oh! Is it enough for some chickens?' 'No.' 'Is it enough for a pig?' 'No.' 'Well, what _is_ it?' she asked.

'It's _magic beans,' _ said Jack, presenting the bag, and was very surprised to be clouted vigorously across the ear, his beans flung out the window, and sent to bed without supper. His mother sat down at the kitchen table and cried for despair, because not only had she no more source of income, but her only son was an idiot who had swapped a perfectly good cow for a handful of beans.

 **EG:** Fairy godmother time?

 **JB:** Sorry, they don't do widowed mothers. Only marriageable young girls. So Jack went to bed in his little attic room, feeling very sore about the ear and the pride. He fell asleep wondering what would become of them. When he woke in the morning, he was confused. Normally, the morning sun shone brightly through his east window, and yet today, though there were some chinks of sunlight, most of the window seemed to be covered by something. He got out of bed and had a look.

During the night, the beans his mother had thrown out the window had burrowed into the earth, sprouted, twined their sprouts together and grown into a mighty beanstalk that disappeared into the clouds!

 **EG:** Botanically improbable, but a charming fancy.

 **JB:** Jack quickly got dressed, opened his windows and crawled out among the tendrils and leaves of the great beanstalk. They were well spaced to make footholds and handholds, and he found it very easy to climb up. He went up and up and up until his head popped through the clouds, and he found himself looking out over a great cloudy landscape. In the distance was a giant castle. He found that, on their upper side, the clouds bore his weight easily, so he walked right across them towards the castle. When he drew near, he found that sitting on the giant back doorstep was a giant woman.

'Good morning, madam,' said Jack politely. 'I don't suppose you could give a hungry traveller breakfast?'

'You might _be_ the breakfast if you hang about,' said the giant woman, folding her arms. 'The master of this house is my husband, the giant Blunderbore, and he likes to eat little chaps like you. On toast.'

 **EG:** May I interrupt to ask exactly how giant these giants were?

 **JB:** I don't know. Huge. I wouldn't come up to this lady's knee. And before you ask, no, there's no sign in the fossil record that any anthropoids that big have ever lived on Earth. 'Oh, please,' said Jack. 'I haven't had anything to eat since yesterday morning. I'll take the risk. Pleeeeease?'

'Oh, all right,' said the giant woman. 'He's out hunting right now, anyway. Come in the kitchen.' She carried him in on the palm of her great hand, and gave him a pinch out of the middle of a slice of bread, a crumb of cheese and a thimbleful of milk, which for Jack made a substantial meal. He had hardly finished when the front door of the castle creaked open and slammed shut, and someone with an extremely heavy tread came tramping through the stone halls, thump! thump! thump!

'Oh heavens!' said the giant woman. 'That's him now! Quick, hide and I'll try to get you out later.' She quickly opened the oven door and popped Jack inside, shutting it just as her husband entered the kitchen.

 **EG:** Ah! She was just fattening him up to eat!

 **JB:** The oven's not hot.

 **EG:** You didn't say so.

 **JB:** The giant's wife is all right, all right? Anyway, in came the giant, with three calves hanging by their heels from his belt, the way an ordinary man might carry rabbits, and he dumped them on the table and boomed in his great rumbling voice, 'Wife! Grill me up some of these for breakfast!'

'Yes, dear,' she said, and got to work, but Blunderbore was looking around the kitchen and sniffing, his great hairy nostrils going snuff, snuff, snuffff. 'What's that I smell?' he barked, and he chanted, 'Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman! Be he alive or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make my bread.'

 **EG:** You said that with much the same intonation as 'the better to eat you with, my dear.'

 **JB:** That's my Scary Monster Voice. Also, 'Fee fi fo fum' and 'the better to eat you with' are two of the all-time classic fairy-tale villain lines. They've all got them, all the ones who are any good. 'Mirror, mirror on the wall,' that's another. 'Fee fi fo fum' is so famous Shakespeare quotes it in _King Lear._ So! That's what he said. 'Oh no,' said his wife, 'that's just the smell of last night's toasted boy hanging around. I'll open a window. You go and wash up, and I'll get breakfast ready for you.' The giant stumped off, and his wife opened the oven door a crack. 'Stay put,' she whispered to Jack. 'He always has a nap after breakfast, and you can get away easier while he's asleep.'

 **EG:** So she toasted a boy last night, but is going to let Jack go? Why? I don't trust this giant woman. She is, at the very least, an accessory to murder.

 **JB:** You sound like Odo.

 **EG:** There are worse people to sound like. What happened then?

 **JB:** Well, the giant came back freshly washed, and ate his grilled calves with absolutely no table manners. He mopped the grease from his beard on his sleeve, and sucked it from his fingers, and then he went to a chest in the corner of the kitchen. He opened it and took out several bags of gold. Arranging them on the table, he began to count his money, chuckling and gloating over it. At length, though, he grew drowsy, and leaning his head on his folded arms, fell asleep.

The giant's wife had left the oven door open a crack, so Jack could breathe, and now he nudged the door open a bit wider, and crept out. He clambered up the leg of the table, crept across it, grabbed a bag of gold and legged it for the beanstalk.  
 **  
EG:** Wait just a minute. I don't deal much in gold, nobody does these days, but I happen to know it is extremely heavy. You can't just pick up a sack of it and run.

 **JB:** Yep. Well, he _has_ already walked around on the tops of clouds, you know. The laws of physics are in abeyance for this story. Jack dropped the bag of gold down the stalk, then clambered down after it. He found his mother standing outside the cottage, staring in astonishment at the sack of gold that had flattened her fence, and gave her a big grin. 'Those beans were pretty good after all, weren't they?' he said.

 **EG:** A bag of gold that size could just as easily have hit his mother and killed her instantly. Even a quite ordinary bag of gold dropped from a great height could have felled her!

 **JB:** Jack has a special attribute of the hero of this sort of story: tremendous dumb luck.

 **EG:** And he's a great big thief.

 **JB:** But the giant isn't very nice. He eats boys. And I suspect him of beating his wife. She's very cowed by him.

 **EG:** Constable Odo wouldn't accept that as mitigation and nor will I. So that's the end of the story?

 **JB:** No, as it happens. Of course, the gold made them very rich for a time. They renovated the cottage and got new clothes and some lovely new milky cows, and ate handsomely at every meal, but eventually the money ran out. By this time, Jack had got used to his new standard of living and didn't want to live within the more modest means that their dairy produce would provide, so bright and early one morning he climbed the beanstalk again. He returned to the castle and once again found the giant's wife sitting on the back doorstep.

'Good morning, madam,' said Jack politely. 'I don't suppose you could give a hungry traveller breakfast?' 'Don't you try and get around me,' said the giant woman. 'I remember you. You wouldn't happen to know anything about the bag of gold my husband missed after you were gone, would you?' 'I think I _might_ know something about that,' said Jack with a charming smile, 'but I'm so hungry I'm not sure.' The giant woman was so curious that she took him into the kitchen and set him up with breakfast just as before. But just as before, before he could finish, they heard Blunderbore approaching, and Mrs Blunderbore hid Jack in the oven. And it all happened over again, complete with fee-fi-fo-fum, except that this time, when Blunderbore had finished making a pig of himself and sucking grease out of his beard, he commanded his wife, 'Bring me the hen that lays the golden eggs!'

 **EG:** A fabulous beast indeed.

 **JB:** Indeed!

 **EG:** You people used to be quite keen on gold, didn't you?

 **JB:** We still like it - it's just not such a big deal now that we can all replicate it. Well, perhaps this hen was somehow an early, magic, organic replicator, because the giant commanded it 'Lay!' and it promptly squirted out a golden egg. Blunderbore smiled to himself, then put his head down on his arms and began his after-breakfast nap.

 **EG:** Giants keep odd hours, clearly.

 **JB:** They do, don't they? Well, Jack pushed the oven door open, climbed up to the table, crept across it, and rather more plausibly, snatched up the hen, stuck her under his arm and legged it back to the beanstalk.

 **EG:** But wait - was it a giant hen or an ordinary hen? Because if it were an ordinary hen its golden eggs would be like grains of sand to the giant.

 **JB:** All right, it's a very big hen.

 **EG:** Then how is Jack carrying it, _ eh?_

 **JB:** Oh, stop it. It's not supposed to be realistic. Though I agreeeven fantasy should be internally consistent. However, the hen let out a startled squawk, and just as Jack got out of the house he heard the giant awaken, and shout to his wife 'What have you done with my golden hen?' And that was all he heard, for he was soon at the beanstalk and clambering down.

 **EG:** While carrying a struggling hen.

 **JB:** _Yes._ So Jack and his mother lived handsomely on their perpetual supply of gold, for whenever they wanted money they had only to say 'Lay' and the hen would squit out another solid-gold egg.

 **EG:** Causing catastrophic inflation in the local economy, I'll be bound. Now, I've heard enough of these stories to have an inkling that there's going to be a third visit. Things go in threes, don't they?

 **JB:** Precisely! Well done. Have some more toast. Because although Jack had everything he could want, he was still not content, and he wondered what other wonders the giant might have up there above the clouds. So one morning he climbed up it again. This time, he didn't go straight to the castle, and he didn't speak to the giant's wife - I would like to think because he suspected she had got into trouble over the hen and didn't want to put her in harm's way again.

 **EG:** Nonsense. He thought only of himself. This is Jack we're talking about.

 **JB:** I'm afraid you're probably right. Well, he hid in a cloud bush near the back steps until the giant woman came out to get some water - which I suppose she wrung out of the clouds - and while her back was turned he nipped inside and hid in the washtub. Before too long, Blunderbore came into the kitchen, sniffing. 'Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman!' he growled. 'I know I do!'

'It'll be that little bugger that nicked your gold and the hen,' said his wife. 'I bet he's in the oven.' They both rushed to the oven door, but of course Jack wasn't in there _this _ time. 'Oh,' said the giant woman, 'I know what it is - you're just smelling that boy you caught last night! He's under the grill now. How forgetful I am, and how silly you are not to smell the difference between alive and dead.'

 **EG:** Oh, that is just _gratuitous._

 **JB:** So the giant sat down to his breakfast, but he was very suspicious, because he was _sure_ he could smell a live boy. Every now and then he'd get up and throw open a cupboard door or look in the pig-bin, but fortunately he never thought to look in the wash-tub. After breakfast, Blunderbore commanded his wife 'Bring me the golden harp!' So she brought out a golden harp and set it on the table beside him. Blunderbore said 'Sing!' and the harp began to sing beautifully. Eventually Blunderbore was lulled to sleep.

 **EG:** You'd think he'd have changed his habits after being ripped off twice already. So now I suppose Jack creeps out from hiding and snatches up the harp, despite it possibly being twice his size?

 **JB:** Precisely! But as he ran off with it, the harp cried out 'Master! Master!' and with a great roar, Blunderbore woke up!

 **EG:** It was a trap! Oh, clever giant.

 **JB:** So Jack ran as fast as ever he could, and he had a slight advantage because Blunderbore was clumsy with sleep and tripped over his chair as he jumped up. Jack got to the beanstalk just ahead of him, and started to shimmy down, the harp still shrieking 'Master! Master!' Suddenly he felt a great shaking! The giant was climbing down after him, the whole beanstalk quivering with his weight! Jack slipped and slithered and jumped as many steps as he dared, and he had an advantage because he'd climbed the beanstalk before and knew where the footholds were. When he got to the bottom Blunderbore was still quite far up, having got caught up in some tendrils. Jack yelled out 'Mother! Bring me an axe!' She came running with the axe, Jack grabbed it and gave a mighty chop at the base of the beanstalk. He was chopping away and Blunderbore was climbing down and _ just _in the nick of time the beanstalk bent and ripped the rest of the way through, and the giant fell to his death with a crash that shook the British Isles.

Jack and his mother became ludicrously rich from the proceeds of selling golden eggs and exhibiting their singing harp, Jack married a princess and they all lived happily ever after. The end. Close your mouth.

 **EG:** Doctor, I have had a brainwave. You write all that down, but change Jack's name to Mo. I'll draw some charming little illustrations, we'll find a publisher and it will be a bestseller on Ferenginar. We'll be rich men, and loved by little buttock-headed children everywhere.

 **JB:** I don't care about riches, though.

 **EG:** Then I'll have the riches and you can have the love. We'll probably get a holo-film deal out of this too. We must make sure we have the licensing sewn up tight. The hen and the harp sound very toyetic.

 **JB:** I wouldn't have thought you cared particularly about riches either.

 **EG:** Well, I think I've been influenced by this thoroughly mercenary fairy tale - that, and I'd quite like to be able to expand my shop. The unit next door is vacant and I could rent that and knock through the dividing wall. Then I could have a better dressing-room area - you know how cramped that is. I could have an _emporium_. Wouldn't you like me to have an emporium?

 **JB:** I really don't think this would look right for a Starfleet officer.

 **EG:** Suit yourself; I know the story now, I just thought you might like to be involved.

 **JB:** Now, do tell me, what do you think the moral of this story is?

 **EG:** Make sure your wife is happy and entertained, so she won't be tempted to take in strange little people for breakfast just to break up the tedium of her life.

 **JB:** Well, that's one way to look at it. It was a trick question, actually. It hasn't got a moral. Some writers tried to impose one on it - they added a back-story where Blunderbore was actually responsible for the death of Jack's father, so robbing him and killing him counted as justified revenge. But the story as a whole is just supposed to be irresponsible fun. If you want to get political about it, it represents the old capitalist system of Earth and the appeal of seeing 'the little guy' take down someone vastly more wealthy and powerful.

 **EG:** Well, when I'm ludicrously rich from the sale of _Mo and the Beanstalk_ playsets, apparel and bedsheets, I will be sure to give you some sort of acknowledgement.

 **JB:** Better make sure your wife is happy, or you might not stay ludicrously rich for long.

 **EG:** What in the world do you think I would do with a wife? Thank you very much for an excellent tea, an interesting story and the makings of a fortune. Good evening, doctor!


	5. The Three Billy Goats Gruff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goats!

**Quarters of Dr Julian Bashir, Deep Space Nine**

 **EG:** Well, what have you drawn up in your little bucket from the stinking well of depravity today?

 **JB:** You like my little tales really. How did you get on with Mo and the Beanstalk?

 **EG:** Would you believe that the name Mo is already so intensively and aggressively copyrighted that I narrowly escaped being sued into the ground for merely making an innocent enquiry? I'm calling him Rom instead. It amuses me. The illustrations are coming along very nicely; I work on them in my spare time.

 **JB:** You must show me some time. Are you sure you've time to hear another story now? Perhaps you should be drawing.

 **EG:** I never know what may be grist to my mill. Other than, obviously, little boys' bones. Please, go on.

 **JB:** I had a think about what you've said - the appeal of these stories to actual children. I realised I don't know very much about that, so when I had dinner with the O'Briens the other night I took the opportunity to ask an actual child for her opinion. Molly was very emphatic about which story I should tell you next, and made her father demonstrate how it should best be told. I don't think I can do his performance justice, but I'm going to try. So: here it is. The tale of the Billy Goats Gruff. Once upon a time there were three brother billy-goats, a little one, who bleated like this: be-ee-eeh! A middle-sized one who bleated like this: baa-aa-aah! And a great _big_ one who bleated like _this:_ **_BAA!_**

 **EG:** Impressive.

 **JB:** I've rather hurt my throat. Well, the three billy goats lived in a meadow in the mountains of Norway. They fed on the fresh green grass and were very happy until they'd grazed the pasture bare. Then they had to go elsewhere for food, which meant crossing the bridge over the little river at the bottom of their valley. There was lots of ungrazed pasture on the other side.

 **EG:** Are you having a dig at Cardassian expansionism?

 **JB:** Don't be too sensitive.

 **EG:** Because if you got this story from O'Brien...

 **JB:** Look, I promise you, this story is authentically ancient and does not reflect the personal opinions of Miles Edward O'Brien. Anyway, the problem for the Billy Goats Gruff was that it wasn't a simple matter of trip-trapping over the bridge. Under the bridge there lived a troll, a hungry, hairy, rocky monster. It was well known that he would seize and eat any living thing that tried to cross his bridge. Nevertheless, it was brave the bridge or starve, so Little Billy Goat Gruff set out over the bridge. Trip, trap, trip, trap, over the bridge. Trip, trap, trip, trap - he was just beginning to think he might reach the other side unmolested, and then with a splash and a crash the troll hauled himself over the side of the bridge and leapt right in front of him. Little Billy was so startled he let out a bleat - how did he go?

 **EG:** You want me to bleat.

 **JB:** Audience participation is a very important part of this kind of storytelling. Molly loves it.

 **EG:** Very well. Ahem. Bee-ee-eh.

 **JB:** Excellent! Nearly as good as Molly's. Well, the troll grinned and growled and rolled his eyes and bellowed 'I'm going to eat you up!' Little Billy thought fast. 'Oh no,' he said, 'you don't want to eat _me._ I'm little and stringy. There's hardly any meat on my bones. What you want to do is wait for my big brother. He'd make a _much_ better meal for you. He's waiting to hear me give the all clear from the other side of the bridge.' You can stop pretending not to laugh. I don't care! I think that's a _good_ little billy goat voice!

 **EG:** It's wonderful. Its charm is inexpressible. Please go on.

 **JB:** Well, Little Billy had chanced to appeal to the troll's greatest weak point: his greed. With his tummy rumbling, he slithered and crunched back under the bridge, and trip, trap, trip, trap, Little Billy Goat Gruff crossed over safely. Standing in the fresh, grassy meadow, he gave the all-clear at the top of his voice. Go!

 **EG:** Bee-ee-eh.

 **JB:** Superb! Middle Billy Goat Gruff heard, and started on his way. Trip, trap..

 **JB & EG: **Trip, trap...

 **JB:** You _are_ catching on. Over the bridge, till out leapt the troll! All ugly and horrible and snotty, and he bellowed and drooled and wiped his nose on his sleeve and said 'I'm going to eat you up!' Now fortunately quick thinking ran in the Gruff family, and Middle Billy hit on the same stratagem as his brother. 'You don't want to eat _me_ ,' he said. 'I'm nothing to write home about, really, I'm all gristle. What you want to do is wait for my big brother. He's enormous and though it's not my place to say, he looks quite delicious. He's just waiting for me to give the all clear when I get to the other side.' The troll, being both greedy and not terribly clever, nodded with idiot cunning and clambered back under his bridge. Trip, trap, trip, trap, Middle Billy Goat Gruff passed over safely, and he and Little Billy had a little celebratory prance before he went to the riverbank and called out...

 **EG:** Baa-aa-aah.

 **JB:** Have you done goats before? You're awfully convincing. So then, great _Big_ Billy Goat Gruff started out, and here we have to make our voices extremely deep and manly, like Worf: Trip! trap! trip! trap! over the bridge. The troll could hear the thunderous sound and feel the timbers of the bridge shaking, and he thought this, _this_ is the payoff for all my patience! Delayed gratification works! With a shriek and a snarl and a hocking of phlegm, he slung himself up and over and onto the bridge right in Big Billy's way. He rolled his eyes and he shook his head and he said - come on now, don't leave me hanging, you know this -

 **EG:** I'm going to eat you up.

 **JB:** Come on, with feeling. I want to _believe_ it.

 **EG:** I'm going to eat you _up!_

 **JB:** Too much wolf, not enough troll. Roughen it up a bit. You live under a bridge. You smell. You don't care that you smell. Compared with you, the billy goats don't smell. One last time!

 **EG:** I'm going to _eat you up!_

 **JB:** _'Oh, you are, are you?'_ roared great Big Billy Goat Gruff. _'Well, here's what I say to that!'_ And he took a run-up, and wham! with his great hooked horns and his hard bony head he butted the troll so hard that he flew up in the air and nobody ever saw where he landed. And trip! trap! trip! trap! over the bridge went great Big Billy Goat Gruff to join his brothers, prancing with glee, and they lived happily ever after. The end!

 **EG:** Extraordinary; I really feel that I helped.

 **JB:** So you should. You did an excellent job. Can you find a moral?

 **EG:** I really don't know. Perhaps it's something about the value of delegating? Hang on. Now hang on, knowing there was a dangerous troll under the bridge, why did Little Billy have to go first? It's just like sending Little Red Riding Hood through the woods on her own.

 **JB:** Well, if Big Billy had gone first we wouldn't have had much of a story. You must have noticed by now how important threes are, escalating threes. Three is a major, major magic number on Earth. And then there's seven, and three times three, and three times seven - three times seven is why humans still celebrate turning twenty-one, why it used to be a big coming-of-age birthday, even though legal adulthood has been set at eighteen for centuries. And three times three, well, that's nine, and that's got to be a good omen for this place, hasn't it? If you're of a magical turn of mind.

 **EG:** Of course, the moral clearly is that if you aren't big and strong, you must use cunning to get out of a dangerous situation. Which I commend. Young Little Billy, now, he really has the makings of an Obsidian Order agent. He may have suspected that his bigger brother could take on the troll and win, but he was quite ready to sacrifice the middle brother in order to secure his own objective.

 **JB:** What about Cardassian family values?

 **EG:** They're only goats. Now, I am beginning to think I can put together some kind of a synthesis of the key parts of a fairy tale. Soon I shall be able to create my own. Something like, once upon a time there was a young doctor, who set out to bring a basket of medicine to, well, let's say his granny lived in the vicinity of a wormhole. And on the way, he chanced to fall into enjoyable conversation with a wolf... the tale of Little Blue Shoulders, I could call it.

 **JB:** I think that would be premature.

 **EG:** Perhaps. But it's distinctly promising. Thank you, doctor, for a very entertaining tale. I shall be sure to thank Chief O'Brien when I see him, too.

 **JB:** Perhaps you'd better not. He might be a bit...

 **EG:** Gruff?

 _To be continued_


	6. The Valiant Little Tailor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven at one blow!

**Session 6, Elim Garak's quarters, Deep Space Nine.**

 **JB:** \- very good with lots of parmesan cheese. Oh, good, that seems to have fixed it. All right. I hope you're prepared to be particularly delighted this evening. Guess what I've got for you?

 **EG:** I couldn't begin to.

 **JB:** A _vocationally appropriate_ fairy tale. I was browsing through a table of contents and it just leapt out at me. Wonderful serendipity.

 **EG:** It's not, by any chance, anything to do with a _spy?_

 **JB:** Nothing of the sort. I know better than _that._ No, this story is called 'The Valiant Little Tailor.'

 **EG:** Hmm.

 **JB:** It's got giants in it, too.

 **EG:** Will I be called upon to provide sound effects?

 **JB:** I don't think so, but you know, if you feel inspired, just jump in. I welcome your contributions. Shall I begin?

 **EG:** I think you may as well.

 **JB:** Right! Once upon a time, a little tailor was sitting on his worktable, by the window, plying his needle.

 **EG:** Had he no chair?

 **JB:** Actually, I wondered about that too, so I looked it up and apparently in those days, tailors were known for sitting on tables, not chairs, cross-legged like this.

 **EG:** They must have been flexible.

 **JB:** So he was stitching away at something or other, when he heard a voice from outside, a peddler crying her wares: 'Good jam, cheap! Good jam, cheap!' And before you say anything, the jam was not poison.

 **EG:** You wound me. Go on.

 **JB:** So the tailor popped his head out of the window - actually, the translation from the German that I found specifically said his _delicate_ head - and called her in. There was some quibbling about the jam in archaic units of measurement, and I don't think the tailor bought very much, and the woman went off in something of a huff. But no, she did not return the next day with poisoned jam. Her part of the story is over. Some people are like that; they just have bit parts in the great drama of life. The tailor was very pleased with his purchase, and got out his loaf of bread, cut a big slice and spread it lavishly. 'But,' he said to himself, 'I'll just finish this job first; that way I'll enjoy it more.'

 **EG:** Much as I might tell myself I had better finish the job in hand before I reward myself by meeting you for lunch.

 **JB:** Well, thank you. I'm a bit like jam, am I?

 **EG:** Actually, I think honey would be a better analogy.

 **JB:** Um, well, I suppose that's right, since I'm not red and don't have pips. So the tailor sat on his table stitching away, admittedly, with increasingly large stitches as the lovely smell of the jammy bread reached him. He wasn't the only one who noticed it. Flies buzzed into the room and made - inappropriately, I have to say a beeline for the jam. The tailor snapped 'Who invited you?' and waved them away. Unfortunately, the flies did not speak German - I'm sorry, that's what it says in the original text, they did not speak German - just kept coming back, and he, losing patience, reached under the table for a spare piece of cloth which he sort of cracked into the cloud of flies like a whip. Most of the flies buzzed off, and the tailor was impressed to see that he had killed seven flies with that one mighty swat. He was so impressed that he ate his bread-and-jam to celebrate, even though he hadn't finished his job. In fact, he was so impressed with himself that once he had licked his fingers and dusted off the crumbs, he put that project on one side and made for himself what the book said was a girdle, which confused me a bit because I thought that was a sort of... ladies' underthing.

 **EG:** Nowadays, yes, that's generally what it means, but at one stage it could be almost anything worn around the waist, a sash or a belt.

 **JB:** Thank you - I knew _you_ would know. That makes much more sense, because he embroidered on this girdle 'Seven at one blow!' and put it on and paraded around town in it, and nobody _reacted_ as if he were prancing about in ladies' underthings. The tailor decided that it just wasn't fair to share his awesome deed with only one town, so he took his show on the road and set out to seek his fortune. Before leaving, he had a look around to see if he had anything worth packing, but as he'd finished the bread and jam there was nothing much except a cheese, which he wrapped up and put in his pocket. The next bit is a touch confusing too, because as he went out the door, he noticed a bird trapped in a thicket, and he put that in his pocket too. The bird, I mean. He took it out of the thicket and into his pocket.

 **EG:** Where it pecked him in delicate places?

 **JB:** Not that we're told.

 **EG:** Had he any particular plan for the bird?

 **JB:** Not that we're told.

 **EG:** So with pockets full of cheese and live wildfowl, he set out into the world.

 **JB:** I'm glad you're keeping up. Off he went, and the road zigged and zagged higher and higher until it came to the top of a mountain, where a giant was sitting and looking at the view.

 **EG:** So giants weren't confined to strange realms above the clouds. Unless this one has climbed down a beanstalk?

 **JB:** Could be! Anyway, the tailor went up to the giant, with perfect confidence, and said 'Good day, comrade! I see you're looking at the wide world. I happen to be going there. Would you like to travel together?' Whereupon the giant called him a ragamuffin and a miserable creature.

 **EG:** A tailor, a ragamuffin? I try always to be the best possible advertisement for my own trade.

 **JB:** You are. I'm sure no giant would dare be rude to you. Perhaps this one just had a bad attitude. The tailor said, in essence, 'Oh yeah?' and opened his coat to display the girdle: 'Seven at one blow.' Now the giant, deprived of context, assumed the tailor was boasting of having slain seven _men_ at one blow. He was impressed despite himself, but he thought he should test the tailor, since it might just be a hollow boast. So he picked up a great stone that lay nearby and crushed it in his hands until water dripped out of it. 'Can you do that?' he asked. 'Is that all?' asked the tailor. He pulled the cheese out of his pocket and squished it in his hand so that the whey - it's a sort of runny cheesy by-product - dripped out of it. 'Not bad, eh?'

 **EG:** I see.

 **JB:** So! The giant was astonished, and got a bit competitive. He picked up another rock and threw it so far you had to squint to see where it landed. 'Beat that!' he snorted. 'Good throw,' said the tailor, 'but it did, after all, drop back to earth. I'll throw you one that doesn't.' He reached into his pocket and closed his hand around the bird he happened to have picked up earlier, and threw it into the air; the bird, of course, lost no time in flying off at top speed. The giant, being, I suppose, rather short-sighted, accepted this at face value. 'Well,' he harrumphed, 'you can throw, but let's see if you can carry a weight.' He indicated a mighty oak tree which he had felled and said 'If you're strong enough, help me carry that tree out of the forest.'

 **EG:** No, wait. That doesn't make sense. They were at the top of a mountain. If there were a forest growing over the top of it, how could the giant be looking at the view?

 **JB:** He might be taller than the trees.

 **EG:** Then how would the little tailor have known what he was looking at? A-ha! I have you there.

 **JB:** All right then, the giant felled the oak somewhere else and brought it up the mountain with him. It's on his way. Well, the little tailor said 'Gladly! I tell you what - you pick up the trunk, and I'll carry the bushy end, which is where all the real weight is.' So the giant hoisted up the trunk and shouldered it, little knowing that he was actually bearing all the weight, and the tailor clambered into the branches and rode there, occasionally whistling or making comments about what a jolly good tree this was to allay the giant's suspicions. The giant couldn't turn around and look at him, you see, not with the trunk on his shoulder like that. The giant trudged on for some time, until he was exhausted and had to put 'his end' of the tree down. As he turned around, rubbing his sore, sweaty shoulder, he found the tailor standing there holding the branches of the tree as if he had been carrying it, looking quite chirpy and unruffled, and saying 'Gosh, a big chap like you, and you couldn't even carry that tree!'

 **EG:** Has the tailor any particular motive for going along with the giant's obsession with feats of strength?

 **JB:** Beats me. I think he's just having fun. So they went along together -

 **EG:** What about the tree?

 **JB:** They ditched it.

 **EG:** What was the giant dragging it around for up to then?

 **JB:** You've got me. I have no idea.

 **EG:** This story is like one of those long, odd dreams that I have when I'm overtired.

 **JB:** _Anyway_ , the giant and the tailor walked on, until they came to a cherry tree all covered with delicious ripe fruit. The giant, noting that the best cherries were growing on the highest branches, took hold of the top of the tree and considerately bent it down to the tailor's level, inviting him to eat. 'Thanks,' said the tailor, taking hold of a branch to pick from it, and of course the giant, believing the tailor stronger than himself, let go, and twang, the tree sprang back up and sent the tailor flying, up and over like this, aaaaaaaahwoohoohooey.

 **EG:** Woohoohooey?

 **JB:** Very traditional cry of someone being comically flung through the air. Luckily, he landed without being hurt. The giant frowned at him. 'What's this?' he asked. 'Aren't you strong enough to hold down a little twig like that?' 'That was no lack of strength,' said the tailor. 'You're talking to Mr Seven At One Blow. I just felt like showing you how high I can jump. See if you can match it.' The giant tried, but didn't quite clear the hurdle - he got stuck, and in his struggles to get down knocked down plenty of cherries so the tailor could eat as many as he liked.

'Gosh,' said the giant, 'you're quite a valiant fellow. Do you want to come and stay at the Secret Giants' Clubhouse?' Which was a big cave nearby.

 **EG:** I suspect you of embroidering this story.

 **JB:** I am. I've already changed two bits that just didn't make any sense to me. The stuff I've left in is the _more_ sensible material. I'll admit I called it a secret clubhouse just for fun. Evidently these giants didn't have a cloud castle, they just had a big cave, and they were all sitting around a fire eating whole roast sheep with terrible table manners. 'Not bad,' said the tailor. 'It's bigger than my workshop.' The giant showed him to a bed, which was, of course, a giant-sized bed, and left him to go to sleep. Well, the bed was so big that the tailor was afraid he'd get lost in it, or suffocate under the blanket or the pillow, so he just crawled into one upper corner and went to sleep there. Now I am sorry to tell you that the giant was _not_ a nice person. You may have thought from the cherry-sharing incident that he'd become the tailor's friend, but actually he was very irritated by him being so small but better than him at everything, and was planning to bump him off.

 **EG:** I'm shocked. Someone in a fairy-tale plans to murder someone else. It's unheard of.

 **JB:** I know. Well, he waited until midnight, when he thought the tailor would be sound asleep, and he picked up a great long iron bar, and standing at the foot of the bed, slammed the bar right down the middle of it. WHUMP! it went. 'That must have killed the little grasshopper,' thought the giant, and went off to bed himself - of course, the tailor being in one corner wasn't hurt at all. The next morning the giants were getting ready to go out when the tailor appeared, quite intact, asking whether there were any breakfast left. So they all ran off in terror because they thought he was immortal. And the tailor just went on with his journey as if nothing much had happened.

 **EG:** As one does.

 **JB:** Exactly! So after walking for quite a long time, he came to a great palace, whose courtyard was open to the public. He walked in, and since he was quite tired, found a comfortable corner, lay down and took a nap. Other people, that is, people who had some business _being_ there, gathered around him to have a look, and read the boast on his girdle, 'Seven at one blow.' Just like the giant, they took this to mean seven _men,_ seven _foes_ , and they thought he must be a mighty warrior despite his delicate appearance. Their kingdom had been at peace a long time, but knowing that nothing lasts forever, they recommended to the king that he take this powerhouse into his service. When the tailor woke up, he found the Lord Chamberlain beside him offering him a job. 'That's exactly why I came here,' said the tailor smoothly. 'Of course I accept.'

 **EG:** I'm troubled by an inconsistency in the tailor's character.

 **JB:** Do tell.

 **EG:** Well, his intention to save the bread and jam until after he finished whatever he was sewing suggests a man who thinks ahead, who plans, who defers gratification for sensible reasons. Yet ever since the fly-killing incident he's been going blithely along without the least thought of the likely consequences of any of his actions.

 **JB:** I suppose it was a transformative experience.

 **EG:** I don't claim to be any sort of textbook example of a tailor, but let me tell you, doctor, I _always_ have a plan. In fact I have several. I have Plan A, and Plan B, of course. These you might liken to complete outfits. But what really makes the difference, and you might profit by making a note of it, is my repertoire of plan _components,_ like separates which can be mixed and matched in various combinations, greatly increasing the versatility of one's 'wardrobe.' In this way, one can be assured of being appropriately 'dressed' for any occasion. 'How did you know that would happen? How were you prepared for it?' people may ask. The _true_ answer, which of course for the sake of your reputation you must never give, is that you had no idea, but were equipped with all those separates that you knew would co-ordinate and could be layered as necessary.

 **JB:** That's _very_ interesting.

 **EG:** And not, perhaps, something that a person who wears a uniform every day is attuned to thinking of. But you were saying that the tailor has accepted the king's offer.

 **JB:** Oh. Yes, well, so he did. But trouble soon brewed. Frankly, he made the other soldiers nervous. They were afraid to be around him lest he lose his temper and lay about him, slaughtering seven of them with every blow. This was not what they'd had in mind when they enlisted. So they went to the king and asked him to dismiss them, saying that they were simply too afraid to serve with Mr Seven At One Blow. The king didn't want to lose such a large number of men of proven loyalty and courage. He was too afraid of the tailor just to ask him to leave, so he came up with a cunning plan. He summoned him to his throne room, and offered him a challenge: to rid the kingdom of two troublesome giants who were a constant threat to life and liberty in the forest they had taken over as their territory. Surely, the king thought, the two giants between them would defeat the tailor and he wouldn't have to deal with him any more. To sweeten the deal, he promised the tailor that if he succeeded, he would receive the king's daughter as his bride and half the kingdom as her dowry, _and_ he would send a hundred horsemen with him to help him deal with the giants.

 **EG:** Wait. The king doesn't want to lose his proven soldiers, but he's willing to send a hundred horsemen on, essentially, a suicide mission?

 **JB:** Am I telling this story, or are you?

 **EG:** You are, doctor.

 **JB:** And do you want to hear what happens to this tailor, or don't you?

 **EG:** I'll be good.

 **JB:** Just as well. The tailor was very impressed by the offer of a princess and a half-kingdom, so he accepted, saying airily that he didn't expect to need the help of the hundred horsemen, since a man who could fell seven at one blow shouldn't have much trouble with two.

 **EG:** But the tailor _knows_ he - wait - oh, bother.

 **JB:** I know. Just try to relax and go along with it. So the next day he set out, with the hundred horsemen following him. When they neared the forest, he turned around and told them 'Just wait here for me. I'll go and deal with these giants.' So he hitched up his pants and strode boldly into the forest. After some wandering around, he came to a clearing where the two giants were sleeping, curled up in the shade of a great tree.

 **EG:** How sweet.

 **JB:** They're bad giants, though. Remember they've been killing people and generally making a nuisance of themselves. The tailor hunted around until he had found enough small stones to fill his pockets, and carefully, quietly climbed up in to the branches of that great tree overhanging the giants' napping spot. Squatting there, he began dropping stones on the chest of one of the giants. After a few thumps on his chest, the giant gave the other a shove, and said 'Why are you tapping on my chest?' 'I'm not,' said the other, irritably. 'You must be dreaming. Go back to sleep.' Neither of them noticed the tailor. He waited a bit until they had both settled down again and were sleeping soundly, then took aim and started stone-bombing the second giant. He woke up and crossly asked his friend what he thought he was playing at. 'I'm not doing anything,' said the first giant. 'You started it.' 'I did not,' said giant number two, and they bickered about it for some time before growing too weary to continue and settling back to sleep. The tailor fetched out the heaviest stone, which he had saved for last, and flung it down onto the chest of the first giant. 'That's it!' he roared, springing up and fetching his companion a thump. Well, giant number two retaliated, and while the tailor clung to the branches of the tree like a squirrel, an enormous giant fight ensued in the clearing below him. They punched and bit and kicked, and tore up trees by their roots to clout each other with, until finally, each of them got it into his head to strike the final blow. After a simultaneous headbutt that echoed for miles, both giants fell down dead.

 **EG:** You know, there's a story very like that in Cardassian mythology.

 **JB:** And in lots of Human mythologies too - the most famous is the story of Cadmus and the dragon's teeth. Perhaps the tailor was familiar with that one. He hopped down from the tree, and after assuring himself that both giants were quite dead, drew his sword and stuck it into each of them a couple of times, for the look of the thing. Then he swaggered back out of the forest to where the hundred horsemen were still waiting, looking a bit nervous after the noises of the giant combat. 'Well!' he said casually, 'that wasn't easy! They put up a bit of a fight. Still, no big deal to a man who kills seven at one blow.' He invited the astonished horsemen to come and see the aftermath - two dead giants, indeed. So, carrying the giants' heads as proof for the king, they returned in triumph to the palace.

 **EG:** I'm getting the impression that, as far as Human fairy-tales are concerned, you can do whatever you like to a giant.

 **JB:** They're pretty much just one-dimensional monsters, yes. Fair game. So! The king was, of course, very flustered. He was pleased to be rid of the giants, who had been very destructive, but he'd never intended to have to give the tailor the reward he'd so lavishly promised. After all, he liked his kingdom the size it was, and he'd much rather marry his daughter to a neighbouring king or prince to form a strategic alliance. So he backpedalled, and told the tailor that before he could have his princess, he'd have to pass one more test: to capture a wild unicorn. Now the book says it was a bad unicorn too, but I don't believe that for a minute, and nor would Molly O'Brien. Ask any little girl: unicorns can be dangerous if they're frightened, but they're fundamentally good magic.

 **EG:** What _is_ a unicorn? I've heard of a _eunuch_...

 **JB:** No, nothing like that. A unicorn is... it's sort of like a white horse, only more light and slender and graceful, perhaps a bit more like a deer or an antelope, and it has a long tail with a tuft at the end instead of a ponytail. And growing from its forehead is a long, spiral horn, which is the really magic bit. An alicorn - unicorn horn - is a universal antidote to poisons. Generally unicorns can only be captured by maidens. And little girls _love_ them. To a perplexing extent. Oh, and I should mention that they're completely mythical. Sometimes, of course, a normally two-horned animal has only one horn as a result of some accident or mutation, and there were some experiments in the twentieth century, efforts to _breed_ a unicorn. Selective breeding, eugenics, genetic engineering - there was a bit of a mania for them in that century. A Dr Dove succeeded in surgically creating unicorn cows, if you can picture that.

 **EG:** What _for?_

 **JB:** The fact that you even have to ask that is illustrative of the philosophical gulf between our cultures.

 **EG:** You don't know either.

 **JB:** Be that as it may, the valiant little tailor had to go and catch this unicorn, all right? All right. 'All right,' he said, 'but only one unicorn? Hmph. Bit disappointing when you're the type to get Seven At One Blow.' He equipped himself with an axe and a rope, and went into the forest - I think it was a different forest, but there's seldom any shortage of forests in fairy-tales - where the unicorn dwelt. When the unicorn saw him, it charged towards him, its head lowered and its one sharp horn levelled straight at his heart. The tailor stood stock-still in front of a tree - until the very last second, when he sprang aside and the unicorn buried its horn in the treetrunk. And it stuck fast. The tailor let the unicorn struggle for a bit until it was worn out, then haltered it with the rope, chopped away the wood around its horn, and led it back to the palace. All rather anticlimactic, really. The king's position was getting a bit untenable now, although he was pretty chuffed to own a _real live unicorn_ , and he desperately declared that the tailor must perform one last feat before he would be allowed to marry the princess. So... you know what, it's actually getting a bit boring now, so suffice to say the next task was to catch a wild boar, and the tailor tricked it into running into a chapel, he jumped out the window, ran around and shut the door so the pig was trapped.

 **EG:** You're not supposed to do that. As storyteller, it's your duty to enchant me with words, not to admit it's getting boring and give me a précis.

 **JB:** So the tailor married the princess and gained half a kingdom. Not bad, eh?

 **EG:** And is that it? The end? This isn't up to your usual standard.

 **JB:** There's another bit, where his wife hears him talking in his sleep and realises he's just a tailor and tries to get rid of him, but she doesn't even try anything interesting like a poisoned apple. And he just gets out of it by reminding everyone of his feats so they run away in terror. And he lives happily ever after.

 **EG:** With a wife who doesn't want him? Or does she run away too?

 **JB:** I think just some henchmen do. I'm sorry. I've let you down, haven't I?

 **EG:** You've done nothing of the sort. The _tailor_ has let me down. He's let _all_ tailors down with his silly behaviour, inconsistent characterisation and lack of psychological depth. I won't let you blame yourself for his failings. I think you just need to be a little more careful in your selection of the next tale. Something with a stronger narrative structure and a genuine climax. Even sound effects.

 **JB:** I'll do my best. Do you think it had a moral?

 **EG:** Don't correct people who misjudge you; with just a little guidance on your part they will make you out to be far more impressive than you actually are, and you can coast on your fearsome reputation for years.

 **JB:** That's pretty good, to be honest. Though it helps if you have unexpected competence in such fields as unicorn wrangling.

**Author's Note:**

> This story may go on for quite a while, depending on how many fairy-tales I feel like retelling. Julian's retellings of these stories are my own, not directly copied from any one source, although, of course, I'm mainly drawing on the Brothers Grimm and Charles Perrault, with some Disney influence. I love fairy-tales and being cynical and nit-picky about fairy-tales and writing lots and lots of dialogue, so this is great fun for me.  
> And I strongly recommend reading 'Shakespeare in the Bush,' linked in the prologue; it's great fun.


End file.
